


i'm hoping you will see yourself (like i see you)

by bibliomaniac



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Eventual Smut, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, i do chapter-specific cws at the beginning of every chapter, so please look out for that, what's it called when someone's fucking someone who's fucking someone? anyway that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: After Zagreus' mother moves back home, everything is supposed to be okay. His dad still doesn't care about him, but that's normal enough. He's still trying to break out of the Underworld, but that's allowed now. Achilles and Patrocus still don't love him, but that's—well—he'stryingto be okay with that. Really.It would be easier, though, if they allowed him to keep his space from them, and stopped asking him to sit down with them for a chat, and didn't keep asking after that invitation to their house they extended a while ago that he's been avoiding.He's trying not to be in their way, so why won't they let him?(aka: Zagreus thinks he's getting in the newly-reunited couple's way but his attempts at avoidance aren't going so well, Achilles feels bad about lying to Zagreus by implying that he wasn't in love with him, Patroclus meddles, But It's Ok Because They All End Up Havin' Sex!thats not a spoiler right...like it's rated e and has a happy ending tag. theres sex in it)
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 189
Kudos: 445





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to be a oneshot but i'm a longwinded heathen so i'm breaking it up into chapters while i work on the smut that was supposed to be the only thing in this goddamn fic,,, 
> 
> cws for chapter 1: talk about child neglect / family problems (hades > zagreus), insecurity, negativity, zagreus severely underestimates his worth to other people, a lot of yearning, zagreus overworks himself, avoidance as a shitty coping mechanism

See—

See.

_(Or, watch. Zagreus, not more than a child, waits quietly for his turn to speak with his father. It is a turn he is never granted, and so in time he grants it for himself—_

_“Father? I just wanted to ask—”_

_And in an instant, without thought, “Quiet, boy. You’re in the way.”_

_—in the way. It is not the first time he is told this._

_It is far from the last._

_Watch. Zagreus, not more than a child, falls silent once more. His eyes show an understanding even those far older may never reach._

_It is difficult, isn’t it, to only look on as this child realizes he is not wanted here.)_

See, Zagreus knows. He knows he is talkative and loud and he knows this because it is on purpose. He had tried being quiet and obedient and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere, and his hurt had built up until it turned to anger, and then—well, then—he had thought, he supposes, that if he were loud at least his father wouldn’t be able to ignore him anymore.

Silly of him to underestimate his father’s capacity to put Zagreus out of his mind. Even when he started rampaging through the kingdom, he still only paid attention when he absolutely needed to.

But. His mother is back now. His rampaging is sanctioned. He’s here to stay whether he wants it or not. They’re supposed to be a family now.

Even that hasn’t done all that much to make his father acknowledge him, frankly, so there really must be no helping it.

So if that’s how it is, it’s how it is. It’s not as though he doesn’t have other friends, other people who are important to him. He can live without a loving father. It’s just—

It’s just that sometimes he wonders if—only a small part of him, you know. But sometimes he wonders if the issue isn’t his father. Sometimes he thinks, maybe he really is in the way.

Too talkative. Too loud.

Too _much._

_(“—much, Zagreus, sometimes,” Megaera says, and she is smiling, but on Zagreus’ face the smile drops._

_Only for a moment, though. It’s not as though he doesn’t know, by now, how to keep smiling when all seems against him._

_“Oh, I’m_ so _sorry,” he says, pretending sarcasm, like it’s a joke._

_The joke is less funny when you know the apology is sincere._

_It is difficult, isn’t it, to only look on as this man’s eyes speak the same understanding as they did when he was younger. Understanding, and a desperate hope:_

_I may not be wanted here, but please, please, want me.)_

For example, just a randomly picked example: with, say, Achilles, and his lover Patroclus. It’s not as though he does not know that Achilles cares for him, in the way a teacher cares for their student, of course. He may even dare to dream that they’re—friends? Maybe? Something close to it? And Patroclus, well, he’s harder to read sometimes, and Zagreus will admit he doesn’t try very hard on account of worrying he won’t like what’s written there. But even he, Zagreus imagines, doesn’t hate him. Feels a modicum of gratitude, perhaps, for Zagreus’ role in bringing Achilles back to him. He’s said as much.

So. Maybe-friendship, and probably-acquaintanceship.

It’s so far from what he wishes from them that he cannot even dream of that wish without waking himself up, but it’s—enough. Dreams do tend to be confined to when one is sleeping, and that’s simply the way of things.

The point of this is just that he knows they care, but he knows also that they are kind, and kind enough that if he _were_ getting in the way, he’s not so certain they would tell him. And if he _were_ in the way and they _were_ unhappy—

Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it.

He does not have some kind of destined love, so he cannot know exactly what it would be like to be separated from them for years and then returned to them, nor what it would be like to then have an outsider intrude on your time of reunion. But he has an imagination, and he imagines he might be at least somewhat bothered? That he might want them to be more considerate, take a hint and a hike, and make themselves scarce for a little while. Even if this intruder didn’t really have any control over the chambers they arrived in through their journey in the underworld, and even if the intruder kept being asked to stay a while longer and take a load off, and even if the intruder had brought a bottle of ambrosia in apology and gratitude and something else the intruder would rather he and this hypothetical love not know about.

It’s not as though he wants them to be irritated with him, of course. But it does cross his thoughts often that they _should_ be, and if they _should_ be that could mean they _are,_ and if they _are—_ well, he’d like them to stop inviting him to sit down for one thing, and for two, it feels even sharper than normal, the idea of them thinking poorly of him.

It hurts enough that they don’t love him, after all.

Not that there’s any ‘should’ to _that_. But it hurts regardless.

Hurts, when—

Achilles puts a hand on his shoulder, and his hand there stays. It’s not a caress, just something friendly, but his hand is warm and Zagreus is not entirely confident that his expression doesn’t freeze awkwardly so as not to show how desperately he wants to melt into the touch.

“You’ve not yet made that visit to our new home,” Achilles notes. Not judgmental, just an observation, but Zagreus imagines he hears disappointment there too.

He has indeed not visited their new home. There was a bottle of ambrosia he gave them as a gift to celebrate it, and well-wishes alongside, but the invitation Achilles extended and that Zagreus accepted out of politeness has not been fulfilled. He’s been trying to keep it out of his mind, in fact, because it seems to him that if he might be getting in their way when they are merely conversing in the glade, it must be all the more so for him to enter their _house,_ the place they made to live in _together—_

Zagreus smiles reflexively. “Oh, sorry sir! It’s been so busy lately. Barely a moment to rest, and all that. Need to make sure I do a good enough job my father doesn’t fire me, right?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, sort of, but it doesn’t land as one if Achilles’ eyes’ narrowing is anything to go by.

Usually, he finds how well Achilles knows him something of a comfort.

Recently, though, he suspects it’s been more a problem than a benefit.

Achilles doesn’t say anything about it, at least. Only, “You do seem tired.” The hand still on his shoulder tightens. “Even gods need rest, lad, now and then.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Zagreus says, even his reflex-smile gone a bit wobbly now, because all of a sudden he feels rather like he’s about to cry.

“Still. You have people who worry about you.” His grip loosens, then lets up completely, as he gives Zagreus an awkward pat on the shoulder before his hand falls back to his side.

The place where his hand rested feels oddly empty somehow, but Zagreus knows that’s just him imagining things. Regardless, maybe that’s why he asks, in a voice far too quiet, “You?”

“Pardon?”

“Do—you worry?”

Achilles doesn’t answer, immediately, and Zagreus takes a step back. His smile comes back in full force. “Never mind that. Just—a joke. Sir.”

“I do,” Achilles says. He’s quiet too, and it stops Zagreus when he was almost about to run away. “Me and Patroclus both worry for you.”

Zagreus stares.

He has no idea what his expression is like right now.

Achilles clears his throat. “And many other people in the House, of course. You have more friends than perhaps you realize.”

Ah. Of course. Zagreus smiles to himself this time, something private and perhaps a little bit sad, ducking his head to hide it. He knows—

He knows. Of course. He knows Achilles does not love him. Patroclus either. They are a perfect pair, two of a kind, so close that nothing may stand between them. And if he cares, and he does, he should really take the initiative to make sure he is not in their way whether they think of it or not. It is shameful, after all, how he knows all this and still begs for scraps of their attention like some pathetic dog at their heels. Like—a child, really, who hasn’t learned their lesson even though it’s been repeated over and over.

When his head raises, his smile is flawless once more.

“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for that consideration. I’ll keep it in mind.” He steps back further. “Well, I think I best go on another run. I have a good feeling about this one!”

Achilles’ mouth opens, then closes. He says, finally, “Best of luck, then. And our house is always open to you, if you ever want to make that visit.”

“Right!” Another bottle of ambrosia should be able to smooth over the discourtesy just fine. He waves, and smiles, and keeps smiling until he’s out of the House where the only beings to see his face go carefully blank are the ones he’ll probably kill anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: past rejection (as is canonically so), drunkenness, minor argument, barely-there-and-you-might-miss-it reference to ptsd, references to patroclus' past death, guilt, innuendo

_(Now: smile._

_Smile as he runs to you, and as he talks to you with his gigantic grin. One of the real ones. Smile back at him._

_Smile, until he hands you a bottle, and then._

_Stop smiling._

_Stop smiling, and make a mistake. Tell him your heart belongs to another. It’s only half a lie, after all._

_Zagreus stops smiling too. He tells you he knows, and he is kind, and he walks away._

_It is difficult, isn’t it, to only look on as you realize you’ve ruined something once again. Ruined something in him, even, perhaps—_

_That perhaps he thought he had a place with you where he could be wanted, and you told him, as too many have, he was not welcome there.)_

“You’re an idiot,” Patroclus says. Not like he’s astonished, because he’s had plenty of time to become acquainted with Achilles’ intelligence or lack thereof, but just as though he’s stating a fact and is a little bit disappointed he has to do so.

“Probably,” Achilles says, head slumped over the table at which he had been drinking the bottle of ambrosia Zagreus had pressed into his hand next time they met, presumably as some form of apology bribe. He hadn’t said as much, but Achilles knows him too well.

Maybe this would be easier, somehow, if he didn’t.

“I didn’t say ‘probably’,” Patroclus says, sitting down at the table and leveling an unimpressed look at Achilles. “I said you’re an idiot, with no uncertainty about it. What did he do this time?” He considers briefly. “Or rather, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Sometimes that’s the problem.” He snorts derisively. “Often, with you.”

“You could stand to be nicer in my time of sorrow,” Achilles mumbles, knowing he’s whining but lacking the shame to stop himself, drunk as he is.

“I’m plenty nice when you have reason to sorrow. This is just wallowing, though I suppose it _is_ sad to see.” Patroclus crosses his arms. “Now tell me what happened to leave you in such a state, and that bottle nearly finished.”

Achilles is nothing against his beloved, and never has been. He recounts their previous encounter, how Zagreus is clearly avoiding him now, and his own regret at watering down his declaration of care for Zagreus by mentioning other people.

Patroclus is tapping a thoughtful finger on the table. “Well, all right. But that’s not _it,_ surely? You haven’t downed the drink of the gods like a cheap brew solely because you’re unhappy you get to see your favorite prince less often, nor because you exhibited your usual lack of nerve.”

Well, no. Obviously those are both things that trouble him, but as rude as Patroclus is being about it, he’s correct that they are presently within the norm.

But really, he _could_ put it more kindly.

“Perhaps not.”

“You and your probablys and perhapses. We both know there’s something more to the story here. Come out with it while I’m still willing to suffer your nonsense.”

He supposes that’s the man he fell in love with.

And on that topic is the real issue, which is that Zagreus may be running, but Achilles knows who drove him out.

“You said once,” Achilles says, voice slightly muffled by the wood of the table, “That you were surprised that Zagreus hadn’t been more forward, given his personality.”

Patroclus doesn’t say anything, just narrows his eyes slightly.

“It’s not—as though he confessed anything, not exactly—”

“Oh, Gods,” Patroclus mutters under his breath.

“But some time ago, prior to our reunion, he gave me a bottle of nectar, and I told him not to have the wrong idea, because while I was alone, my heart belonged to you.”

Achilles knows that Patroclus loves him beyond life itself, but the look Patroclus gives him is filled with such reproach an outsider looking in might think otherwise. “Well, that does explain some things, now doesn’t it.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Achilles defends.

“You weren’t being honest, either. You told _me_ you’ve been in love with him for ages now, long before he began to make his escape.” He frowns, slightly. “You used me as a shield against him?”

Achilles props himself up on his elbows and frowns back. “Of course not. It’s not that simple.”

“Seems like it could be. Whatever happened to risking it all?”

Achilles stands, now, and he may have fallen in love with a blunt man but he can be hurt by it still. “I would never risk it all if it meant losing you!” he says, voice raised only slightly but with all the impact of a shout for how rarely he does it. “Not again! _Never_ again! At that point I had no hope, even, of seeing you once more. I would _not_ disrespect your place in my heart by filling it with another.”

Patroclus gazes up at him, eyes a little wider than normal, and finally nods and drags his seat closer to Achilles’ own. “Sit down,” he requests quietly, and when Achilles concedes, he runs a fond hand through his hair. “Still a warrior, even now, I see.”

They both are. It’s not something one really has the luxury to grow out of, even with an eternity ahead of you.

Achilles doesn’t talk back, and leans into the touch. “I—am aware,” he says, softer now, “that I’ve done something to Zagreus that I do not know how to take back. But I am not sorry for thinking of you.”

Patroclus sighs. “I would not have held it against you if you took him to bed. Did I not share the same thoughts, after meeting him?”

Achilles is silent a moment, then acquiesces, “He is very charming.”

“Yes. And we had others in our bed while we were alive.”

“By mutual agreement. I did not want to presume that applied after…” He exhales, turning away. “Many things have changed.”

“Hm.” Patroclus strokes his hair once more. “Not the most important things.” His hand moves to caress Achilles’ cheek, down to his jawline, a whisper down his neck. Achilles’ eyes flutter closed, and he leans to catch as much of the touch as he can. “So how will we fix this?”

Achilles blinks.

“Surely you did not think this would just resolve itself.”

“No.” Though he had not either thought of anything with regards to a fix. “He might come here eventually. He said he would.”

Patroclus clicks his tongue. “And then plied you with ambrosia so he would not have to. This situation requires a more active touch, I should think.”

Horrified, Achilles says, “I will not—accost him out of nowhere!”

Patroclus barks out a laugh. “Where is your mind at, hm? I only meant—talk to him, Achilles. Explain yourself.”

Somehow, that seems more terrifying than some grand plan, or even a public seduction. When his silence continues, Patroclus adds, “I don’t think an apology would have quite the same effect coming from me.”

“Patroclus,” Achilles starts, then stops.

Patroclus waits, always patient when it counts.

“What if I’ve hurt him beyond what is in my capacity to repair?”

And there’s his true worry, really, the reason he’s not yet said anything to Zagreus in the first place. Fear may be for the weak, but Achilles is not strong in all things. He cares about Zagreus. He— _loves_ him. And to see one he loves, brought down by his own hand…again.

Again.

Seeing his stillness once more, Patroclus’ voice gentles. “You won’t know until you talk to him. And odds are, the longer you wait, the worse the hurt will become.”

Achilles winces. He’s already waited rather a long time.

“Anyway, it is difficult, isn’t it? To only look on as he walks further away? I think perhaps you’ve been a guard so long in that House that you’ve gotten overly used to only ever watching.” Patroclus’ head tilts lazily to one side. “And where has it gotten you? So, go do something.”

It’s an order so like him that Achilles laughs.

_(So._

_—Do something. Anything._

_Don’t just stand there and watch—)_

“You’re right,” Achilles murmurs.

He’d ask what he’d do without him, but—he supposes he knows, already, by now.

“I’ll talk to him at the next opportunity.”

“Good,” Patroclus says shortly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not the only one who wants to fuck him, you know.”

Achilles splutters, pinking slightly, just in the tips of his ears. “Pat!”

He rolls his eyes. “And the rest. Of course.” Huffing, he adds, “But the fucking would be nice.”

“So vulgar,” Achilles says, even if he agrees.

“Oh, don’t you speak. I can’t believe he could have been in our bed all along if it weren’t for your big mouth.” It’s good-natured ribbing this time, inasmuch as Patroclus can manage it.

“Better a big mouth than a filthy one,” Achilles retorts.

Patroclus looks over and gives a dirty smirk. “You don’t believe that.”

He doesn’t.

But he’s not about to give Patroclus the satisfaction, so he gets up to go outside and let the breeze cool his warm cheeks and any further thoughts of Patroclus’ filthy mouth.

From the laughter, he thinks Patroclus probably knows, though. He tends to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'probablys' sounds and looks awful but 'perhapses' is so charming, with just the subtlest hint of gollum flavor, that i had to do it
> 
> anyway what else is new, its a patrozagchilles fic so, you know. patroclus has a thumb in meddling pie, zagreus is an unreliable narrator, so forth. all the hits. the only real thing of note is that i had to revise this to make patroclus sound less mean lol...you know when you're trying to be funny and it comes out really fucked up instead? like that. be nicer, patroclus, i say waving him around on my little puppet string
> 
> also! thank you so much for all the comments on the first chapter, you're all very sweet ;v; dw zagreus will get hugs if i have anything to say about it! and i apparently have enough to say about it i wrote all these goddamn feelings into a pwp


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: talk about (thought-to-be) unrequited love, brief mention of feeling unloved by a parent, awkward conversations, talk about canon-typical fighting/violence, i can't think of anything else but if i've missed something please do feel free to let me know!

Zagreus isn’t certain when he began to love Achilles.

Time moves strangely in the underworld. It would be an exaggeration to say he had loved Achilles for an eternity, in terms of a more objective time, but in terms of how things _feel_ —with no days and no nights and an atmosphere permeated by the lingering remnants of Chaos, and with Achilles having been there for almost as long as he can recall—an eternity feels not enough to describe it.

It may not have been of the romantic sort at first, he supposes. As a child, he loved Achilles through admiration, with that same sort of ambiguous love he felt for everyone he interacted with in the House. As he grew older, he thought it perhaps an infantile crush or infatuation. Simple hero worship.

But that feeling was never shed, only cultured and refined and intensified, and Zagreus may be dense when it comes to calculations but he likes to think he is not so when it comes to matters of the heart, so…he knew. Not with any kind of explosive revelation, just something quiet: a label to something that had already long taken root in the very depths of his being.

Just as soon, though, and with as little impact, Zagreus knew that Achilles was not for him. Achilles never spoke of Patroclus, but—there was always something to him. An aching loneliness, a terrible pain, a heavy longing. Even before Achilles told Zagreus outright that his heart was somewhere else, Zagreus understood. It hurt, of course, but it wasn’t as though it was the first time the Fates had denied Zagreus a love he desperately wanted.

It shouldn’t have been any different when Zagreus found where Achilles’ heart sat in a shadowed Elysian glade. It wasn’t, even, at first.

At first—

The Fates toyed with him once more, though, and Zagreus saw such familiarity in that expression, in the pain in his eyes. Perhaps without even noticing it, initially. And something about how guarded he was only made Zagreus want to grow closer, and then there was that dry wit and those infinitesimal hints of smiles and a backbone so strong Zagreus could only so aspire—and—and he was Achilles’.

Of course he was. They’re perfect for one another. It only makes sense they would be perfect to him. Perhaps he just has a type.

But the fact is, the hurt from one unattainable, perfect man, seems only to be compounded by the hurt of another unattainable, perfect man, and compounded further when these men are ridiculously in love with one another and fully unafraid to show it. And when they keep inviting you to be there with them, in some horrible caricature of what it could be like if they—but they _don’t,_ could _never—_

Zagreus slashes mulishly at nothing, the chamber already empty of foes, and lets his head fall back. Gods above, but he hates this futile exercise of going over and over his hopeless situation in his mind. It only ever cuts the wound deeper. And for what? Beating himself over the head with how they don’t feel as he does will not lessen his pain or change their feelings. Besides, he’s already decided to stay away from them.

He nods slightly, trying to strengthen his resolve, and walks forward to open the next chamber.

The chamber is—new? Which is new in and of itself. Zagreus had thought he’d seen most of them. But not this one, this isolated place with a single house, up atop a little hill, and—

And Achilles outside, staring in shock at him—

Oh. Well. …Fuck.

The Fates really do enjoy his pain, don’t they. He’s not quite sure what he ever did to them.

He stands there long enough, contemplating whether it would be _too_ obvious if he started running away, that Achilles’ tentative hand raised to wave at him falls, and he looks back at the house like he’s contemplating who-knows-what. Calling for Patroclus? Going inside?

Whichever it is, he appears to come to another decision entirely, and starts to walk towards Zagreus.

Zagreus wishes that he could move. Maybe not to run away, because at this distance that really _would_ be rather spectacularly unsubtle, even for him. But to walk forward, meet him in the middle? To wave back? To do anything other than stand here, staring stunned like a coward.

His wishes do have a habit of not coming true. Achilles reaches him before he manages to muster even the slightest twitch.

Zagreus thinks he’s not quite imagining it that Achilles’ smile is a bit awkward. “Hello, lad. I see you managed to make your way here after all.”

It does appear so. Maybe the shifting chambers were trying to enforce his promise for him. However it came to be, he doesn’t appreciate it.

Achilles’ smile is growing even more strained as the silence continues, and Zagreus mentally gives himself a little shake. “I, ah…yes, sir. When I opened the door from the last chamber, it…brought me here, you see.”

Achilles winces noticeably. “Ah. So an accident, then.”

Well, that just makes him feel horrid, doesn’t it. “Yes. Sir.” He pastes a smile on, and adds, “Not to say I wouldn’t have come here on purpose, but this time around—”

“Zagreus,” Achilles says softly. Zagreus’ traitor heart jumps despite everything, luxuriating in the sound of his name in his mentor’s mouth. “You don’t have to smile like that in front of me.” He hesitantly brings his hand up, then brings it to brush lightly from Zagreus’ shoulder down the length of his bicep. “Or lie to me.”

Zagreus keeps smiling, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” He levels his gaze at Zagreus, and it seems to look so deep that Zagreus flinches and steps back, away from him.

“I’m smiling as I normally would, sir. As for lying—” He flounders, and eventually gives up on any attempt at finding an excuse, which would inevitably be a lie itself. “Anyway, I don’t think I can stay, since this was unplanned and all. I was in the middle of a run, so—”

He hears Achilles sigh, sees him bringing his hand up to his forehead to massage his temples, and thinks he might be exasperated with him. But instead, Achilles says, “I’m sorry. I’ve started this off all wrong. Lad—no, Zagreus. Please, could you stay a moment longer? I need to talk to you.”

It’s pathetic, how all of Zagreus’ planned goodwill about leaving them alone to enjoy their partnership evaporates in the face of a single sincere entreaty. He bites his lip and looks down. “Of—of course, sir. Whatever you like.”

There’s more honesty in that promise than he hopes Achilles picks up on.

“Right, then.” Achilles sounds relieved. “Right. Good. Would you be willing to follow me to the courtyard? I can bring out some stools. It would be more comfortable than our two feet.”

So not just a moment, then.

But what Zagreus said still holds true, so he nods and follows after Achilles, as he always has. Except—at some point, Achilles slows his pace so that they walk side by side instead, which, well.

Doesn’t mean anything, but it’s nice anyway.

_(Think._

_Turn it around in your mind. You do not have much more to do in this afterlife than that._

_Think it over. When was it, that you knew you loved him? When was it that your student became your peer, and then your friend, and then—_

_Or is it something you do not even need to consider? Is it something you already know? Is that moment engrained in your bones alongside Patroclus’ name?_

_Perhaps it was when—yes, then. When he first disarmed you in a fair fight, not just one of your teaching spars. When he swept your legs out from under you and your spear went clattering away, and instead of pressing the tip of his own spear to your neck, he only laughed and dropped it._

_Threw it away, so that he could reach his hand down to you, instead._

_“Thank you for the fight, sir!” he said, no bragging, no glorying in his win, only those bright eyes and brighter smile shining down at you like the sun you remember from your days alive._

_Amazing, you had thought, how the son of the Lord of the Dead was filled with such pure life, and such a pure heart to boot._

_“You won fair and square,” you said, giving him his rightful chance. “Excellent job.”_

_And he had beamed at you, and said, “I had a wonderful teacher, is all.”_

_You—took his hand, and kept your gaze on him—_

_And all you could think was how much better a man he was than you during your lifetime, and how warm his hand was, and how beautiful his smile._

_It might not have been until later that you realized how your love began. The feeling was familiar, sure, but it was something you kept pushed deep down inside for the shame you felt. But when that was past, and you thought it over._

_You knew then, didn’t you?_

_It’s difficult, isn’t it, to love someone like that and never say a word._

_So say something now.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cmon achilles, everybody falls in love w zagreus bc he's a wholesome boy with a big heart. how special were you that you thought you could get out of it (jkjk) (well not really that much tho) 
> 
> the chambers of the underworld are basically just so tired of this romantic drama playing out in their depths. it isn't paid enough to serve as the stage for a soap opera. it is not paid at all, being inanimate as it is


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: innuendo, awkward conversations, insecurity, reference to hades fuckin zagreus up a bit emotionally...uhhh i think that's most of it, let me know if i've missed anything tho!

They reach the courtyard in the center of the house, and Achilles goes inside to take two _diphroi_ from the kitchen for him and Zagreus to sit on. Patroclus is there, a knowing smile on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Patroclus asks, perhaps intending it to sound innocent, but failing because Achilles is not sure he’s been innocent a day in his life.

“We’re just talking.”

“Of course.” He comes forward to drop a kiss on Achilles’ lips. “Let me know when you’re past just talking, then.”

Achilles levels a stern look at him, then brings the stools outside where Zagreus is standing, shifting his burning feet. He’s clearly nervous, because his feet burn brighter than usual, leaving slight scorches on the stone. This is Elysium, though, so the damage is repaired almost as soon as he can make it.

It’s silly, but Achilles has the thought that—if this were to be their last real conversation, his last visit to this house, that he might have preferred his footprints stay.

“Right,” Achilles repeats uselessly once they’re sitting. He’d thought he would have more time after his and Patroclus’ conversation to determine what he might actually say to Zagreus, but he can’t let this chance go now that he has it, either. He takes a moment longer to collect his thoughts as well as he’ll be able to manage right now, then nods once, with finality. “I suppose what is most important for me to say right now is that I am sorry.”

Zagreus blinks at him. If this were a less important moment, Achilles might allow himself to get lost in those eyes of his—so unique, brilliant in their mismatched color, and always so trusting.

As it stands, he’s spent some time building up immunity to Zagreus’ wide-eyed stare, so he only loses track of his thoughts for a few seconds.

“Sorry for what, sir? I don’t think you’ve done anything that would require your apology.” It looks like a thought flashes across his mind, because his expressive face goes slack with terror a moment, but then it relaxes somewhat—still apprehensive, but not like he’s thinking of running away again.

“No, but I have,” Achilles says. Impulsively, he puts a hand on Zagreus’ knee. He’s not certain if it’s because he wants to keep him here or just because he longs so to simply keep him, and to have him near enough to touch, but some part of him relaxes at having Zagreus’ warm skin under his hand.

Zagreus’ eyes widen further, almost comically so.

“Zagreus. I have committed an unforgivable trespass against you.” Achilles closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “When you gave me that nectar, before you reunited me with Patroclus. Do you recall?”

_(Now: speak—)_

He certainly does, if the way he goes sheet white and jerks back is any indication. His eyes can scarcely go wider, but it seems they’d like to. “I—no, well—”

_(Speak, or he’ll run away—)_

Achilles keeps his hand on Zagreus’ knee, and leans in very slightly. “I told you then that my heart belonged to another.”

_(Tell him—)_

Zagreus screws his eyes shut, now, and his lips quiver before he whispers, “Please, sir. Don’t—again—I’ve been _trying.”_

Oh, but that breaks Achilles heart. It’s a risk, but—didn’t Patroclus say to risk it all one more time?

_(Tell him you love him, already, damn it all.)_

He brings his other hand up to Zagreus’ face, and runs his thumb along Zagreus’ cheekbone, up to wipe away the smallest tear beading at the corner of his eye. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he murmurs, “I’m sure it’s not what I’m about to tell you.” He cups Zagreus’ cheek, rejoicing in how Zagreus subconsciously leans into the contact, even as he frowns, confused.

His eyes fly open, a little bit suspicious now. “Achilles…?”

“I told you then that my heart belonged to another,” Achilles repeats, but this time adds, “And I was lying.”

Zagreus’ response to that is definitely comical, confusion and outrage and shock, and he draws back so much Achilles almost can’t chase him with his hand. “Patroclus—”

“I love Patroclus,” Achilles interrupts, smiling lightly. “Dearly. Make no mistake of that. But my lie was in implying that there was no place for another in my heart.”

Zagreus tilts his head, adorably bewildered.

“And in not being clear, then, that this place was already occupied.” Before Zagreus can run off and make his own conclusions with that statement, Achilles finishes, “By you.”

Zagreus only starts blinking again, head dipped, brows furrowed. Achilles wants to ask him what he’s thinking, but—he’ll wait.

He’s made Zagreus wait long enough, after all. It’s only fair.

“Uh,” Zagreus starts after a while, then. “I…sorry, what?”

It’s not a question born of disgust, at least, only bafflement. “I’m in love with you,” Achilles clarifies. “I’m sorry for saying differently. I was worried I would be betraying Patroclus, but—”

“Patroclus told him that was stupid,” Patroclus yells from inside, nearby, and Zagreus startles and whips his head towards the doorway.

“Patroclus,” Achilles reprimands, “You told me you’d let me take care of this.”

“Not in so many words,” he grumbles. “And anyway, I think the boy deserves to know at some point that I feel the same way.”

Zagreus looks about ready to faint at that, jaw dropped at the doorway where Patroclus stands slouched against the opening with crossed arms.

“Our Achilles,” he says confidentially, “Sometimes forgets about what’s going on outside his own head. He can be a little bit selfish, that way.”

Achilles narrows his eyes, but he supposes Patroclus isn’t entirely wrong, there. Zagreus mouths ‘our’, his cheeks beginning to pink becomingly.

“He’s not said anything because he was afraid you were too hurt to,” he waves his hand lazily. “Still be interested, I suppose. Is that the case, stranger?” The way he elongates the word makes it sound far more seductive than it has any right to be.

Zagreus goes even redder, a hint of embarrassment there now. “You knew—” he starts, then slowly shakes his head. “Of course you knew. Gods. Sirs, I—” He shakes his head again, then looks up, at Patroclus and then Achilles. “I don’t think I understand. You both are perfect for each other. If you…well, if I’m…” He exhales and bites out, “Look, I’ll just say it. Wouldn’t I be in the way?”

His expression is so plaintive that Achilles wants to wrap him up in a hug and not let him go until Zagreus never has cause to look like that again.

“Never,” Achilles says, voice thick. “You could never—of course not, not at all.”

Zagreus gnaws on his lip. His eyes trail away, troubled and luminous. “But—”

“Seems like the sort of thing that’s up to me and him,” Patroclus says, walking out of the doorway and resting a hand on Zagreus’ shoulder. It might look like nothing, but Achilles knows him, and he can see the weight he’s using, the firmness of his grip. Possessive, a little angry—but not at Zagreus, of course. If Achilles let Patroclus know he might have an idea when Zagreus started thinking that, he thinks right now Patroclus might be willing to wage war on the King of the Underworld himself. “And on my end, I think you look great here, right between us.”

The insinuation is purposeful, and Zagreus’ cheeks darken even further.

“Look,” Achilles says gently, picking up Zagreus’ hands in his now, giving them a squeeze. “You’re free to do whatever you wish. If this isn’t it, we would never stop you. But if it is, I would love nothing more than to have the honor of loving you alongside Patroclus for as long as you’ll allow me.”

_“Allow_ you,” Zagreus chokes out, then starts to laugh. It’s only the slightest bit hysterical. “My wildest dreams right in front of me, and I’m to _allow_ them? You—I would usually have woken up before now, you know, this is so unrealistic—”

“You’re the one who’s a god,” Patroclus points out. “I think it’s more unrealistic for us to just presume right off that a god would want us.”

That’s precisely what he’s done all along, but Achilles supposes this time it’s not as if he was wrong.

“Oh, please. You’re—” He gestures helplessly at both of them, then shrugs, hands still in Achilles’ grip.

“We’re only shades,” Achilles says, quiet. “That’s all. Two shades, two men, who love you. That’s all there is to take into account. That, and if you love us?”

Zagreus shakes his hands loose, only to cover his face with his hands. “You really need to hear me say it properly?” he murmurs.

“I’d like to,” Patroclus says in a monotone that belies his actual interest in the answer.

Zagreus snorts and drops his hands, and it is with a smile much shyer than the ones Achilles thinks of as genuine, but almost more beautiful still, that he says, “Of course I love you both. How could I not?”

It’s not as though there’s not more to be said here. What Zagreus has had to deal with does not go away simply because it’s told it should, for example, and Achilles feels as though there ought to have been more apologizing done on his part, and more explanation besides. But in this exact moment, with Zagreus looking like that while he tells him he loves him, Achilles can think of only one thing.

He reaches forward to pull Zagreus closer and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'd like 2 be clear here that like, im not leaving stuff emotionally just at that, as achilles says bad shit doesnt go away just bc you ask it nicely and i never want to send off the message that a kiss is some magical fix-it. so it'll be addressed later. 
> 
> also i'd like to be clear that i spent way too much goddamned time researching the structure of ancient greek houses and the furniture therein. at first they were going to talk on a porch. then i wasn't clear on if a porch was a thing so i was like, ok, courtyard, but i couldn't figure out if all sizes of houses would have courtyards so i went into a little spiral about houses at different socioeconomic levels, and then about what the building materials would be and whether it would be all a garden or just in the center and if its not grass would they use brick or tile or what, and then i got sidetracked on what doorways would look like and if a smaller house would have a peristyle and if that would impact things, and then i was like ok goddamn it doesnt need that much detail, just have them sit down, so a bench, but THEN I COULDNT FIND EVIDENCE THERE WOULD BE BENCHES IN A COURTYARD SO I HAD TO LOOK UP FURNITURE--
> 
> anyway i don't have a reason to be clear on that, bc none of it matters in the fuckin least, but i'm just giving you a window into the pain of my own making and telling you: if u happen to be an ancient greek houses expert and i've fucked up. dont tell me please lol....,,,,,
> 
> oh btw next chapter is the last chapter i have prewritten, i'm currently struggling deeply in chapter 6 trying to work out how the fuck a foreplay


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: this isn't quite e yet but it is maybe a light m at least, talk about shame and implied worry over cheating (or something like it), a very light flavor of bdsm--patroclus has a very small moment of being a bit gentle-dom-y, insecurity, i don't think anything else but lmk

He intends the kiss only as a simple, chaste thing, but—

In his defense, Zagreus freezes, but after that he scrabbles at his clothing when their lips part to bring him back, and closer. And it would be rude, wouldn’t it, to not follow? So he does, and moves one hand to Zagreus’ face, and the other to his shoulder to keep him there.

And in his defense, Zagreus’ shoulder connects to so much bare, warm skin. Touching there lets him run his hand along Zagreus’ arm and then to his back, between his shoulder blades, up to his neck, down to pull at his chiton before smoothing over it to reach the curve between his waist and hip. And it’s Zagreus who digs his hands into Achilles’ hair, anyway, and Zagreus couldn’t have known, but Achilles rather likes having his hair pulled.

And in his defense, Zagreus moans like sin, and he’s just so pliable against him when he licks into his mouth. And Achilles has been wanting Zagreus for so long, watching without being able to _touch—_ and with that seal broken, with Zagreus right there in his arms making such lovely noises, isn’t it natural that he’s beginning to harden? And—so—

“All right,” Patroclus interrupts, sounding very amused. Achilles startles, then sheepishly backs away with one last kiss. This one is even actually simple and chaste, for which he commends himself, especially given how Zagreus looks at him with a heaving chest and lips all in a shade of kiss-bitten red. Forget a god, the boy might be a siren.

Patroclus walks closer and dips down to give Achilles a perfunctory kiss. “I can sympathize, but we might be best off getting our boy to a bed.”

Zagreus makes a noise at ‘our boy’ that has Achilles wondering whether it’s worth the bother moving, even though he’s feeling admittedly a bit as though he should have been the one to control himself better. He’s older, after all.

Probably. Time works oddly in the Underworld, and even more strangely around the gods. It’s the sort of thing mortals are best not thinking on.

“Or if not the bed,” Patroclus continues pointedly, “At the very least away from there. He’s set the _diphros_ to smolder, you see.”

Zagreus looks down at the smoking stool and yelps. “Oh, shit!”

He immediately picks up the stool and swats at it with the hem of his chiton, which has the double effect of showing off the start of a bulge in his leggings. Not something to complain about, that.

The fire is small, and goes out quickly. He looks embarrassed, though, looking at the charred part of the stool. “I’m sorry. I can get you a new one.”

“We can work out furniture renumeration later,” Patroclus says in a voice that brokers no argument. “I’m more interested in something else right now.” He purses his lips, which Achilles knows is him trying to hide a smile, but Zagreus might take as a pout. “You’ve not kissed me yet.”

Ah, there it is. No doubt, the true motivation of Patroclus’ stepping in. He likely would have found it funny if the entire _diphros_ burnt to ash, otherwise. “What happened to the bed idea?” Achilles asks, mirth in his eyes.

Patroclus sniffs. “What, he can’t give me one small kiss before we go? Besides, the bed’s even more flammable, so I figured we could get the burning part of things out of the way early.”

“Oh,” Zagreus says, looking even more embarrassed. “No, I can control it usually—”

“Well, I don’t know,” Patroclus says almost in a purr, sauntering closer. “Maybe you can only say that because you haven’t been kissed by me.” His smile is dark and full of promises. “Care to test it out?”

Zagreus inhales shakily, eyes blown. “Might as well not risk it, right,” he breathes, then launches himself forward to kiss Patroclus.

He kisses him, at first, as though Patroclus might be taken away from him at any moment. Achilles supposes that’s sort of what happened just now with him, but he can’t wait until Zagreus is secure enough with them that he knows they’ll always be there.

The thought that Zagreus might be so eager because he worries this won’t last quells some of Achilles’ arousal for a moment, but seeing Patroclus’ skilled lips on Zagreus’ brings it back quick enough. Patroclus calms the kiss into something less urgent, but with just as much passion—deep and dirty, just as he likes it. Achilles can attest from his own experience that it’s absolutely breathtaking.

He can also attest, just from knowing Patroclus so well, that he’s getting a bit more carried away than he might usually. Patroclus isn’t one to talk about his emotions at length, but it is not for lack of feeling things strongly, and Achilles knows that he truly has become quite wrapped up in their Prince.

_(Listen—_

_He approaches you about the subject in the afterglow of your reunion. Have you ever bed your ward, he asks._

_No—you say, shocked, of course not—_

_And he sounds only confused when he asks, why?_

_It’s clear as day he longs for you, he says, and, I suspect he might have some interest in me as well: not immodest, not your Patroclus, just plain-spoken as always._

_You had not been able to answer clearly, then, to his question. None of this is a revelation, after all, but it’s a revelation you’d tried to turn your eyes from some ago. Thinking of being able to have them both, well, you’d thought that merely a fantasy from the dregs of your most shameful, self-serving dreams._

_And, then, listen:_

_I want him with us, he says abruptly._

_You stare at him, bewildered, but also tied down by the growth of the seeds of hope you thought you had never planted—_

_And you do too, he adds, not a question, just a fact he knows like anything else about you, like your favorite food or the exact shape of your smile. We should make it happen. He—_

_He stops, tastes the words in his mouth, changes his mind._

_It would be good, he says instead._

_Listen, though. Hold your ear to his heart. Listen, and hear how it races when he speaks of him—_

_He may not have said he loves him out loud, but does not his heart speak even louder? And as for your own heart—_

_Yes, you say._

_Yes, it would be good.)_

When Patroclus is through with Zagreus, he hasn’t set anything on fire, having stepped away from the wood in the area, but he’s breathing heavily and his eyes are glazed in a lovely way.

“Shame,” Patroclus mumbles to himself regardless. Achilles follows his glance down to Zagreus’ feet and sighs.

“It is no shame that our house is not afire.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Zagreus pipes up weakly, “I’m fairly certain my flame was at the same temperature both times.” He pauses. “I’m not sure how well that bodes for the bed, actually.”

“It’ll be fine,” Patroclus says, visibly cheerier after Zagreus’ reassurance, though he’d deny it if either of them pointed it out. “You’ll control yourself, won’t you, stranger?”

“I’ll certainly try,” Zagreus says nervously.

“Oh, I think you’ll do better than try.” He runs his thumb underneath the underside of Zagreus’ chin, up, just grazing his lip before letting off. “Since I’m asking so nicely.”

Zagreus’ eyes go a bit glazed again, and he licks his lips. “No, um. Of course, sir.”

Patroclus’ smile is inscrutable, but his eyes glint, pleased. “Good boy.”

“Oh,” Zagreus inhales, just something small, but—after seeing Patroclus and Zagreus kiss with such passion, and after kissing Zagreus himself, the implication of it is enough to set the anticipation within Achilles to a steady roar.

“The bedroom, _please,”_ he says tersely. He pauses, and adds a bit more awkwardly, “I mean, if you’re all right with that, lad. I don’t want to rush you—”

“Achilles, sir,” Zagreus cuts in. “I’ve been thinking of this for—a very, very long time. There’s no way I’m waiting any longer than I have to.”

Achilles smiles, relieved, and feeling just the same. He holds out his hand for Zagreus to take. When Zagreus accepts, with that same shy smile, he brings Zagreus’ knuckles to his mouth and brushes his lips against them, and he thinks: when Zagreus extended his hand to him on the sparring grounds all that time ago, that might have been what he wanted to do all along.

“Well, then let’s not keep you waiting anymore.”

They don’t. It’s not quite a dash to the bedroom, though Achilles suspects Zagreus might have if he knew where their bedroom was and was not more concerned of his manners, but they’re certainly not walking slowly. When they pass through the doors of the bedroom, Zagreus immediately starts the process of taking off his pauldron, belt, and greaves, pausing when he sees both Achilles and Patroclus watching him.

“What?” he asks, some of that insecurity from before entering his expression. Perhaps he thinks he looks too eager. “I thought it might make things easier to remove—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Achilles reassures. “You’re just a sight, is all.” If he knows Patroclus at all, and he does, he thinks they were probably looking at the same sight, in fact.

He’s seen Zagreus’ ass before, after all, but never while he was truly allowing himself to look. It’s spectacular.

“He means you have a nice ass,” Patroclus says dryly. “Allergic to saying what he means, this one.”

Achilles takes only a small amount of pleasure in knowing he was right, and a large amount of embarrassment in having himself laid so bare. “Pat!” He crosses his arms. “You could benefit from saying less of what comes across your mind, in my opinion.”

Zagreus laughs, bringing Achilles’ gaze off Patroclus and towards Zagreus’ dimpled grin. “I suppose it’s good to know you think so. I might be troubled otherwise.”

“No need for trouble there,” Patroclus says, “Though I could handle the object under discussion personally if you’d like to make sure of it.”

Another delighted chuckle as Zagreus starts to walk towards Patroclus. “Why, sir, I’m beginning to suspect you might be trouble of yourself.”

“You’ve not seen the half of it,” Achilles says, but with a fond smile, watching them come together again. Patroclus kisses Zagreus, pausing for a few moments to whisper something in his ears, then wastes no time in grabbing at Zagreus’ ass as promised, using the grip to press them chest to chest.

Zagreus’ moan is just as delicious in the bedroom as it was outside, and Achilles stays frozen only a moment longer. Patroclus looks at Achilles over Zagreus’ shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“Still going to just look on?”

It’s a question that doesn’t even need asking. “Absolutely not,” Achilles says, and strides towards them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the fuck does a foreplay play if a foreplay could fore plays
> 
> this chapter...im not sure ive ever spent so long on revision before. this and the next, i mean. if any of u are long time brin customers u might kno that i usually just post my shit immediately as soon as it's done without editing, so part of that is just that since this was prewritten it was, you know, _there_ for me to fuss over, but i also just REEEEEally struggled with characterization for everybody. had to keep reminding myself that, like...uh with life drawing, you know, where they tell you to draw what you see and not what you think it should look like? i think i just expected to see pat as some snarky sexyman and zagreus as a trembling sub and it just REALLY showed l o l so after a whole lot of uncharacteristic edits hopefully it's come out, you know. all right enough. :/
> 
> oh i mentioned in the last chapter note that this chapter is the last prewritten chapter? that was true, but i did finish chapter 6 last night and revised it today, so chapter 6 is done. that said, if i post chapter 6 tomorrow, i will almost certainly not be done with ch7 when i do so. :P so y'all might have a lil wait. hopefully not too long tho!
> 
> last note, i know im longwinded as fuck in these sorry, but that wasn't the note, the note is that i had the energy to respond to comments just before posting this! im glad about that, i do like to talk to people kind enough to comment! but it did...also fuck over my poor sad hands lol so theres chance enough i might not be able to respond to future comments, or only respond to some folks, somethin like that. i apologize if so, i promise im not tryin to exclude anybody! i just have dumbshit hands and also tbh only so much Social Energy in a given day so


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: this chapter gets into more m/e territory, mention of blasphemy, insecurity, low self esteem, negativity, parental issues, talk of abandonment, this chapter starts to get a bit of a d/s flavor (i'll be tagging it soon, i was not wholly anticipating this either lol), zagreus becomes concerned he'll basically be yelled at in the bedroom (more in a trauma response way, not bc they were planning on it), they have to talk about sex etiquette and set up a safe word

Theseus had told him once that if Zagreus wanted to pretend at a fiction to elevate himself above being a fiend from the deepest pits of Tartarus, it would have been well for him to not have reached so far as to call himself a god. “You could have set your sights a little lower,” he had said, disapprovingly. “The gods punish those who dream above their station, you know.”

Setting aside the audacity of Theseus giving storytelling lessons to him, an actual god attempting punishment, Zagreus feels the words almost applicable somehow right now. It feels almost a blasphemy for him to have set his sights to Achilles and Patroclus in the first place, and with them telling him they _love_ him— _love?_ Him?

All he’s saying is, if a divine punishment is on the way, he would understand. Tell a more realistic fiction, Zagreus. This one isn’t meant to be yours.

But at the same time, when they speak such sweet words, when they kiss him like they’re drinking him in and touch him like it’s worship, he’s not strong enough to push them away. He could slow things down, ask if they’re really sure, and then if they’re really _really_ sure, and then—at what point it is they’ll decide to throw him away, stop talking to him other than to glare or shout, tell him he’s naught but a disappointment—

—Well, okay, even he can tell that’s maybe more his parental issues talking than his experience of Achilles and Patroclus. They’re kind. They wouldn’t lie about loving him just to get their rocks off with a god.

Doesn’t mean there’s not some angle they haven’t considered to it, though, yet. Some angle of Zagreus in particular. Maybe something they won’t even know until they’ve laid with him, and realized that he can’t be whoever it is they think they want. Realize he’s not that smiling, witty boy he tries to be, at least not wholly. Realize they didn’t know what it meant to bring someone between them, and all of them know who would end the ones last standing—

“I suspect you’re thinking too hard,” Patroclus murmurs in Zagreus’ ear, and he discovers all of a sudden that he’s let his lips go slack.

“Oh. Shit. I mean—I’m sorry.” He responds under his breath, shooting a glance at Achilles, who’s watching over them with eyes blown. Perhaps he thinks they’re exchanging dirty promises, or something.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Patroclus keeps one hand inching towards his ass, but the other brushes his face so softly Zagreus could cry from it. “I suspect we’ll all have things to speak of when this is done. Assuming you still want this.”

Gods above, of course he does. At least just once, everything else be damned. “No, I’m all right, really—”

Patroclus just chuckles. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t a threat. What I mean to say is that I think we may not have quite convinced you of our feelings. Not as though Achilles didn’t leap ahead in kissing you rather than explaining things, after all. So we can explain after. But for now—” He licks his lips. “I think both of us have longed to show you just how lovely we think you are. Let us?”

His hand finishes its slow journey, then, and grabs Zagreus’ ass, splaying possessively across it and bringing him closer.

Zagreus thinks he has never been so thoroughly seduced with so simple an action. He moans loudly, and nods against Patroclus’ shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at Patroclus’ hips. “Please,” he whispers, looking up. “Sir.”

Patroclus’ answering grin is ferocious. “Good _boy,_ ” he purrs, and ignores Zagreus’ whimper to call out to Achilles, “Still going to just look on?”

“Absolutely not,” Achilles says as fervently as a prayer, and in only a few moments more, he’s pressed up against Zagreus’ back. He and Patroclus exchange a kiss over Zagreus’ shoulder, and the sensation of being pressed between two firm chests would be enough to steal his breath away, but to be so close to their passion, to see how Patroclus’ face relaxes into the familiarity of it and hear Achilles’ soft sighs, makes his knees feel want to buckle.

They smile at one another when they’re done, all fond and close, until Patroclus declares, “Enough of that. Why bother with that old thing when such a sweet new toy is here.”

It’s clearly a joke, but Zagreus bristles anyway. “That’s rude, Patroclus.”

He can feel a smile hidden in his neck. “Look, Pat, he agrees you should be nicer to me.”

Patroclus hums, then drops a kiss on his forehead so quick he almost misses it, and another kiss on Achilles’ lips. “Fine. He’s right. I’ll always love to bother with you.”

Achilles kisses back, looking pleased. “Why, now that we’ve a god here, I see miracles have been wrought,” he teases. “He admitted someone else was correct.”

“Wasn’t there supposed to be sex?” Patroclus demands irritably, though Zagreus thinks a hint of embarrassment may color his words.

“So I’ve heard,” Zagreus says, pretending confusion, “But I’ve yet to see any of it.”

“Isn’t that just unacceptable,” Achilles says, laughter in his voice, and dips down to press a kiss just behind Zagreus’ ear. When he next speaks, his voice has shifted lower. “If we wait too long, perhaps our prince might come to question why he chose us.”

 _Our_ prince. Zagreus’ heart thumps so loud he wonders if they couldn’t have heard it. “I would never—,” Zagreus protests, cutting off with a barely-audible squeak when Achilles lightly nips at his earlobe.

Patroclus steps closer, caging him in even tighter between them. “No? I still think we should probably prove it beyond doubt.”

Zagreus swallows, transfixed. Achilles kisses further down Zagreus’ neck, as if in response to some hidden signal in his lover’s words, and Patroclus continues with that same promise-smile from earlier, “You know. Show you how good we can make you feel.”

“I’m not going to complain,” Zagreus says breathlessly, and he’s about to say something else, something challenging maybe, but Patroclus swallows it up with his lips on his again.

He quickly concludes that it was stupid of him to think—even for a moment, even in jest—that he could have survived challenging them. He can barely keep his thoughts straight now, and they’re only kissing him. Only kissing, but oh, when it’s them, and _both_ of them, it feels like so much more.

More, but not quite enough.

Zagreus tilts his head invitingly to the side to give Achilles more room to make his trail of kisses down his neck and to his collarbone. Patroclus takes the opportunity while Zagreus is distracted to bring his other hand to meet the other at Zagreus’ ass, then kneads at it roughly. It’s in stark contrast to how gently he bites at Zagreus’ lower lip and sucks it into his mouth afterwards.

“I question nothing,” Zagreus says breathlessly when he’s done. Patroclus snorts.

“Good to hear. But I think we’ve more work to do still.” Abruptly, he spins Zagreus in his arms so that he’s facing Achilles, who looks just as surprised. “Catch.”

Achilles’ shock only lasts so long, then he laughs a little and shakes his head, smiling. “Hello there.”

“Um, hi,” Zagreus says, smiling back and looping his arms around Achilles’ neck, only slightly hesitant.

Achilles doesn’t move a while longer, just gazing at him, then his smile softens. “There’s the smile I love so.” He brushes his fingers along Zagreus’ jawline, then thumbs at Zagreus’ lower lip, still slightly wet from Patroclus’ spit. “Your smile is beautiful, have I ever told you? I suppose not.” He continues to stroke at his lip, almost absentminded. “But I always thought it. You were my light in that dark House, more than anything else.”

Zagreus stares back at him, uncertain what to say, heartbeat in his ears. He sounds—so sincere. Not that he ever thought Achilles a liar, but—those are words you speak to someone you _love,_ and sure, he’d said he loved Zagreus, and—

Patroclus had said they’d speak of it later. Which means he doesn’t need to stand here with his mind cycling in circles like this. Instead, he fulfills a fantasy and takes Achilles’ battle-callused thumb into his mouth, looking up at him as his tongue laps against the pad like doing so could somehow imprint his fingerprint on his heart.

“Oh,” Achilles says, punched out. He sticks his thumb in even further, almost wonderingly. Zagreus obliges, closing his eyes and swirling his tongue around it, getting lost in it, until—

“Just look at him,” Patroclus says.

Zagreus’ eyes fly open, unsure for whom the command was meant. Patroclus bestows a surprisingly sweet kiss on his neck, meant to calm him maybe, before going on. “Taking your thumb like it’s a cock. How many times have we imagined just this? Our boy between us, using that pretty mouth.”

He can’t stop himself from moaning, even if he’s not the target of Patroclus’ honeyed voice. The thought of them, having thought of him like this, having thought of him doing this—getting off to the thought of him being here—and then, he looks down a little and sees that Patroclus is toying with Achilles’ nipples through his clothing. And Achilles—his head is thrown back, and he’s panting, red-cheeked, gorgeous—

Zagreus can feel himself hardening even further, biting back a whimper around Achilles’ thumb, but he supposes there’s no place for embarrassment when he can feel Patroclus’ and Achilles’ arousal just as clearly. He can’t stop himself from a small, jagged thrust forward thinking about it, about how soon he can see just how aroused they’ve become, and even touch…

Perhaps his movement draws Patroclus’ eye to where they are joined, because Patroclus brings his mouth to Zagreus’ ear to whisper conspiratorially, “He hasn’t gotten so hard so quickly since he was a youth, you know. It’s always like this whenever we talk about you.” He tweaks one of Achilles’ nipples harshly, and Achilles makes a wounded noise, tossing his head to the side, though he still manages a weak glare at Patroclus for revealing his secrets. “I made him come in mere minutes, once, talking about us taking you both as one—”

“ _Thank_ you, Patroclus,” Achilles says, feigning irritation as best as he can despite the spots of color high on his cheeks and how he still can’t quite catch his breath. Patroclus chuckles breathily against the back of Zagreus’ neck. Zagreus shivers, even though he’s never felt quite so hot inside in his life. He’s thought of the same, sure, touched himself to the idea and as many fingers in his ass as could fit. But it’s so much closer when they’re both here, talking about their fantasies of him.

“Am I wrong? It’s not as though I’m blaming you.” He retracts his hands from Achilles and sets them on Zagreus’ hips instead, then bites down at Zagreus’ nape while grinding into his ass. Zagreus chokes out a surprised moan, his head throwing back onto Patroclus’ shoulder. Patroclus’ voice rumbles through Zagreus’ body when he says, “After all, were all gods as sweet as ours, I might have faith in them once more.”

Zagreus moans again, his hips jerking towards Achilles, seeking friction, seeking _more._ Ours. Ours, he keeps saying, and oh, Zagreus has never before so desperately wanted to belong to someone—

His hips meet Achilles’, albeit glancingly, and Achilles lets out a huff of air through clenched teeth. Patroclus observes this, then kisses the spot where Zagreus’ neck meets his shoulder before saying, “He likes it harder.”

“Mm?” Zagreus’ scrambled mind produces.

“Harder. And hold him in place so that he can’t move.” His fingertips smooth along Zagreus’ arms and then move Zagreus’ own hands to place them on Achilles’ hips. “Like so.”

Zagreus is still feeling a bit faint, but he puts some strength in his arms and tries his best to follow orders, thrusting against a stunned Achilles and then grinding a bit dirty at the end. “Like…this, sir?”

“Good,” Patroclus growls, and warmth bursts in Zagreus’ chest. “Now do it again.”

“Pat—”

“Hush. I’m showing him what you like.” Patroclus attaches his lips to the same spot he’d kissed before, then sucks at it to the point of pain, as Zagreus again drags his and Achilles’ clothed cocks together, then waits for instructions once more.

“What an obedient boy,” Patroclus says, sounding amused. “Again, until I tell you to stop. And kiss him this time. He loves when you suck on his tongue.”

Blushing again, Achilles says, “Patroclus! Really—”

But Patroclus doesn’t respond. Instead, Zagreus, still in a daze, looks up at Achilles and asks, “May I, sir?”

Achilles’ eyes widen, and he doesn’t deign to respond either. He only groans, and crushes their lips together, and when Zagreus sucks on his tongue like Patroclus recommended, he makes the most beautiful noise. Zagreus’ hips stutter at that, and he wonders if he might come like this, untouched and unbedded, just from some simple frottage and a kiss—

“Stop,” Patroclus says, raising his lips from his personal task of covering Zagreus with marks. “Zagreus.”

“S-sir?” Zagreus asks, suddenly worried he’s done something wrong somehow, heart icing over with fear.

He must look visibly troubled, because Patroclus pauses, frowning. “I didn’t mean—I only wanted to ask whether you could come again if you were to come now.” His hand had been squeezing at Zagreus’ pectoral, but now it comes slowly to simply hold onto Zagreus’ shoulder. “A question. Just now, were you concerned I’d reprimand you?”

Zagreus shrinks in his hold, ice starting to overtake the heat and clear his mind. “I thought it a possibility.”

Patroclus huffs, the air hitting his neck, and he spins Zagreus once more to face him, hands firm on his shoulders. “Zagreus.”

“…Yes.”

“We’re having sex,” he says, coming out with something so obvious so seriously that Zagreus for a moment almost wants to laugh.

“…I had been laboring under that impression, yes,” he says, confused, a defensive smile starting to pull its way at the corners of his lips.

“Sex is—well, I’m no expert, but it’s intended to be something fun, right? To reaffirm feelings, to experience pleasure, so forth.”

“Er, right.”

Achilles sighs. “Now who’s not getting to the point?” With an exasperated glance at Patroclus, he wraps his arms around Zagreus. “Lad, I believe he’s trying to say that there doesn’t need to be fear here. There are no repercussions. If anything were to go awry, we could simply stop and discuss what had occurred together. We will never be angry at you for doing something intended to bring us pleasure. How could we, when your being here with us is already such a gift?”

Zagreus doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing at all. He feels, for a moment, once more like a young child being taught the spear, wondering if he’ll ever be able to stop making mistakes and stand on the same level with the man he admires so much. Eventually, he says in a small voice, “I don’t want to disappoint you and Patroclus.”

Achilles surveys his face, and as usual, Zagreus thinks that perhaps he sees too much. “I cannot think of a single thing you could do that would disappoint us.” He kisses Zagreus’ cheek, lingering and sweet. “Not now, not ever.”

The darker part of his mind thinks that he’s just not getting creative enough, but he manages a tiny nod anyway.

“Not getting to the point, my ass. You just interrupted me,” Patroclus grumbles, clearly still disgruntled. “Listen, stranger. You want to know what’s a disappointment?” He gestures expansively. “Life. Life disappoints. But we’re dead. There’s nothing really left to be disappointed over.”

When Zagreus doesn’t respond, Patroclus kisses Zagreus’ forehead, then his lips. “How about this. We use a specific word to mean we’d like to stop, actually stop, and talk things over. If the word is used, everything halts immediately until we get things worked out. But if the word isn’t used, things are all right. Nothing to worry over.” He raises an eyebrow. “How does that sound?”

Reassuring, actually, but given under what circumstances it was brought up, even after they’re done choosing the word, Zagreus doesn’t feel terribly reassured. Gods. He gets this opportunity, _finally,_ and still—even still— “You don’t need to do all this for me,” Zagreus says quietly, head dropping, shoulders sagging. “I feel as though I’ve ruined everything.”

“Gods, why do I fall in love with those who treat life like the theater,” Patroclus says mildly. “You’re fine.”

Zagreus’ jaw drops.

Love, he had said, straight out. More or less, anyway. Achilles had drifted over to stand next to Patroclus, and even he seems astonished.

He—doesn’t understand, frankly. He’s done nothing to deserve their kindness, much less their love. He’s not even shown the best of himself here, only cowardice and desperation.

It’s intoxicating, though. Even if he doesn’t deserve it, they make him feel as though they’re the ones honored to have him here—that he brings them happiness beyond the pleasures of the flesh.

Maybe it’s an illusion, but it simply feels so _good,_ to be wanted. And not just because he can get them off, but because they…love…

“You’ve ruined nothing,” Achilles says softly. “On the contrary. Everything is better for your presence here.”

“And I, for one, would be more than happy to get back to the sex,” Patroclus says. “Anytime.”

Achilles slaps his shoulder.

“Anytime you want,” he amends, rolling his eyes. “I’d thought that was implied.”

Zagreus smiles, and his smile only grows, alongside a warmth far brighter than the arousal, that fills him all the way to the tips of his fingers. They both fall silent, looking at him.

Perhaps Zagreus is a coward, but he can be brave sometimes, surely.

“I…really do love you both,” he says. “And I would love to continue.”

“Wonderful,” Achilles says, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles back.

They both look at Patroclus.

“I said my bit, I’d thought,” he says. “Maybe this time we might even make it to the bed.” He scratches his beard thoughtfully. “And probably a good time for it, too, because I do believe our rug is letting off smoke.”

(It is, but it goes out easily enough, so all is well—

Yes. All is well.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was i planning on patroclus being so directly dominant or the whole bit where they pause shit to talk over, you know, stuff? one hundred percent no! what the fuck is up with my errant fingers really. i am not qualified to give lectures on healthy sex. im an asexual virgin goddammit. but sure, whatever, go off and do that. have fun. characters i am personally writing.
> 
> anyway if i havent gotten into it i find writing sex scenes both very difficult and rather irritating so this took a while to get done and they werent even close to fuckin by the end of it. you might need to strap in for the long sex haul, as it were, lol. im knee deep in chapter 7 and they're only starting to get to things really. it's a very real possibility there'll be like 3-4 chapters of sex happenings, all told? so, uh, sorry lol
> 
> also as ive been mentionin in past chapters and just now, im not done with 7! i might be done...soonish? but theres a good chance i wont be done with it tomorrow, and whenever i post it, ill be like, immediately starting on 8 and itll take me at least a couple days i imagine. i know in terms of like, most fic schedules, that's not like...a lot lol...but just so you know not to be lookin out for it every day anymore u_u i hope u all have a lovely week upcomin tho!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: this one def has e content, it's heavier on the d/s vibes so do mind that if you're not into it, some insecurity, pat brings up his and achilles' past sexual encounters, he creates a brief fantasy that has a mention of soooort of semi-public sex, uhhh i can't...think of anything else...as ever, lmk if im missing something and my apologies if so

All is well, but it’s still a bit awkward trying to restart things after their conversation and with the scent of burned wool hanging about unappealingly in the air. It could be it’s just Zagreus that thinks so, but Patroclus and Achilles are sitting on the bed talking under their breath together, so he thinks probably not.

Fear is for the weak, he reminds himself. And they lov…they care about him, anyway, at least. If things aren’t all right, they’ll stop it. They won’t be disappointed.

Probably.

He’s dealt with worse odds before, he supposes.

Taking a deep breath, he takes off his chiton, flinging it on the floor somewhere near his armor. He can tell immediately he has their attention, but he continues before he can start to wonder whether that’s a good or bad thing. He peels off his leggings and throws them in a similar direction, leaving himself fully nude.

“All right,” he says, trying to find a way to make this less awkward and, failing, deciding he might as well just say whatever happens upon him first. “Come at me.”

Fuck, that was an awful decision.

Achilles’ smile is one of those that pretends it is not trying to be a grin. Patroclus, however, has no such reservations, and he barks out a laugh.

“I will employ my considerable self-restraint to avoid the jokes that come to mind.” He tilts his head lazily towards Achilles. “This one would hit me.”

“I would,” Achilles agrees. His smile turns indulgent, and he crooks his finger towards Zagreus. “Here, lad. Let us look at you.”

“Yes, sir,” Zagreus says quietly, walking closer to them.

Achilles tugs him in between his legs when his hands are in reach, caging him in and looking him over just as promised. His gaze feels even heavier now, dragging over him like an almost physical force. Zagreus holds his breath, imagining that Achilles is evaluating him, and despite everything they’ve already done, hoping for a positive response.

“Gorgeous,” Achilles murmurs, smoothing his hands along the back of Zagreus’ thighs, almost transfixed. “You’re absolutely exquisite.”

Zagreus gives a relieved smile, even knowing it will give him away.

Patroclus drapes himself over Achilles’ back and stares at Zagreus almost clinically. Finally, he declares, “Prettiest of all the gods I’ve seen.”

Zagreus puts his hands on his hips, finally settled enough to be somewhat playful, and asks, “How many gods have you seen?”

Patroclus hums. “I suppose I must have seen the rower, once, and your father and the sleep-god. I don’t recall their visages, though, and it doesn’t matter. Answer would be the same however many.”

Patroclus has a way, Zagreus has found, of saying the loveliest things and moving on like it was nothing at all. Zagreus is a bit embarrassed that they can see, now, how far his blush travels, and how his cock twitches at the praise.

Patroclus takes it all in with that same impassive gaze, and then, keeping eye contact with Zagreus, kisses Achilles’ neck, sloppy and with a hint of teeth.

Zagreus’ cock jumps again, and he gulps. Patroclus’ lips form a smile against Achilles’ neck.

“He’s been waiting so long,” Patroclus says. “He can wait a bit longer, can’t he?”

Achilles looks over at Patroclus, a bit worried. “Pat—”

Patroclus bites down, now, worrying the skin until an obvious bruise forms, then licking over it, all the while staring at Zagreus. “Can’t he?” he repeats, now clearly addressing Zagreus.

“Ah—yes, sir. Of course.” He’s not sure quite what Patroclus is up to, here, but he definitely know what response Patroclus wants, after all. And anyway, Achilles was originally—his, so—

Patroclus pauses, eyes narrowing perceptively. “That word. You don’t need it? Be honest.”

Zagreus blinks. “No?”

“You’ll use it if you do.” It’s not a question but a statement, a command.

“Sure.”

“Hm.” He nods to himself, then begins to kiss a pathway up to Achilles’ ear. Achilles looks wary, just as confused about Patroclus’ intentions as Zagreus is, but his concern melts away when Patroclus threads his hands through Achilles’ hair a few times, then fists it close to the roots.

“Oh,” Achilles says, voice high-pitched in its surprise, “Pat—”

“Look at him,” Patroclus says, conversationally, like they’re not about to have sex and he doesn’t have his lover’s hair held tight in his hands. “You like _looking._ Right?”

“Well—”

“Look at his body. You trained him strictly.” His free hand steals down to Achilles’ nipples, over his clothes, to tug at one, eliciting a startled whimper. “You can tell. Not because he looks like you, not really. He’s a bit leaner, isn’t he? Broad shoulders, but his hips are fairly trim. Just right to hold onto while fucking.”

“Patroclus,” Achilles protests, scandalized, cutting off with a whine when Patroclus tugs at the nipple again, harsher this time.

Zagreus, well—all he can do is watch Achilles right back as his mentor watches him. Achilles’ eyes are wide but they’re starting to darken, and those twin spots of color are making themselves known on his cheeks.

Gods, he looks beautiful.

And it’s—it’s from _him,_ isn’t it, or partly, anyway—

Zagreus chews on his lip. He wants to touch, but Patroclus had told him to wait, and there’s something exciting in that, too. Something about being told, and being denied, and used as a tool for their pleasure.

It’s pathetic how hard he is already, with even less contact than before. But then, it looks like Achilles is too, so it’s fine, right…?

Patroclus only forges onward. “I can’t help but think.” He twirls the nipple between his index and thumb as he speaks, almost an idle action. “When I see Zagreus, you know. He’s exactly your type, yes? The type you used to bring into our bed?”

Zagreus’ eyes go round, and he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

His _type,_ he says, like those they used to share, to fuck—so when Achilles looked at him, could he have thought of—

Achilles’ blush darkens. “Well, ah. I suppose he’s not…entirely dissimilar.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Patroclus says, low, “But I think you could be more honest yet.” He flexes the fist in Achilles’ hair again.

Achilles moans, long and loud.

Zagreus has to clench his fists at his side to keep from reaching out and tasting the moan off Achilles’ tongue.

“You spent all that time _looking,_ ” Patroclus says, satisfied with the reaction and dropping his hand from Achilles’ hair, moving it instead to the other nipple and starting to squeeze it in time with the first. “Don’t tell me you never thought of it.”

Achilles licks his lips, and Zagreus can’t keep himself from doing the same, hoping they’re imagining the same thing, hoping Achilles is imagining kissing him and—maybe more, even. “I did,” Achilles finally admits quietly.

“There you go,” Patroclus purrs. And as reward, his hand steals beneath Achilles’ home-casual chiton and—well—Zagreus can’t see, not exactly. But from the bulge and Achilles’ sharp inhale, he thinks he has an idea.

Gods, what he would do for a similar reward right now.

Patroclus noses behind Achilles’ ear, eyes directly on Zagreus’, a slow, small smile spreading. He knows exactly what he’s doing, to _both_ of them. “So think of it now,” he says to Achilles, but with his eyes still on Zagreus. “Imagine seeing him back then. Oh, but you would have wanted him right away, wouldn’t you? And you, the great hero Achilles—well, there’s no way he wouldn’t have seen you watching and wanted just as much. You’d tell him to see you in your tent later, and everyone would have known _exactly_ why you were asking. They’d pretend not to, of course, just as they’d pretend they wouldn’t strip their cocks to the thought of it that evening, to the image of the great hero Achilles and his beloved Patroclus fucking that sweet boy.”

“Pat,” Achilles gasps, but this time without reprimand, only arousal. He’s still watching Zagreus too, watching as Zagreus’ breathing comes staggered as he tries to control himself.

He thinks he might understand what Patroclus is trying to do here, now. He’s showing Zagreus how they used to play together, making love to the thought of him—proving ‘how lovely they think he is’, as per his earlier words. He’s almost tempted to tell Patroclus that he believes them, already, if it would grant him touch some way or another.

Patroclus’ smile only grows, hidden behind Achilles’ ear. He unpins the fibulae of Achilles’ chiton at the shoulder, undoes the zoster at the waist, then pulls the fabric away, from under Achilles and off the bed.

Fuck. _Fuck,_ but he’s gorgeous, all tightly toned muscles and fair skin, and a long, slim cock—a _hard_ cock, with a bead of precome at its tip— _oh,_ he wants to taste.

“Shit,” Achilles curses uncharacteristically, following the line of Zagreus’ gaze, and how his lips part subconsciously after. “Pat, can’t we—”

Patroclus kisses him until Achilles is at least dazed enough to not continue the question. “Imagine it,” he murmurs. “Him, in our tent that evening, immediately disrobing just like this.” He spreads the precome along the head of Achilles’ cock, circling it before he starts to slowly jerk the shaft. “Me, getting you hard for him, not that you need the help. Not when he looks like this, right?” Patroclus gives a ragged sigh, the first time he’s shown himself affected since they restarted things. “What do you think he would do when he saw that, hm?”

“I don’t— _ah,_ Pat—”

He stops touching Achilles, and Achilles comes close to folding in on himself as he whimpers. “What do you think you’d do, stranger?” Patroclus asks Zagreus, eyebrows raised, before slowly taking Achilles’ hands in his own and pressing them down into the bed.

As if there’s any question. “I-I’d drop to my knees,” Zagreus whispers, then clears his throat. “Right away, sir. I’d go to my knees and ask if I might have permission to suck your cock.”

“Oh,” Achilles says in a broken little exhale.

Patroclus smiles, not that one full of mischief, but something more genuine. “Good,” he says, like he was looking for the right answer, and Zagreus managed it. Heat flares in Zagreus’ abdomen at the praise, and he smiles hopelessly back.

“So do it,” Patroclus says, stroking Achilles’ strong thighs, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Huh?” The command takes a moment to sink in. “I’m—I can?”

“Of course.”

“Patroclus, you can’t just _tell_ him to—” Achilles starts, but Zagreus has already gone to his knees so fast that the ground nigh-shakes with it, settling down between Achilles’ legs with a pleading expression.

“Please, sir?”

“Use your words,” Patroclus chides.

“Please, sir, may I suck your cock,” Zagreus amends, then looks between Patroclus and Achilles to check if that was all right. Patroclus just nods, but Achilles looks dumbfounded.

“I-I—” He coughs. “I mean, certainly, lad, if you want to.”

“I’ve wanted my mouth around your dick almost as soon as I knew that was a thing one could do,” Zagreus says truthfully, his embarrassment tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind in the face of actually getting to touch Achilles like this.

“Gods above,” Achilles mumbles, covering his face a moment with his hand. Zagreus can still see the red through the gaps in his fingers, though. It’s surprisingly cute. “Well, then. By all means.”

Zagreus beams up at him, then looks over the task set before him. Before the main bit, those _thighs._ He dives in immediately, licking a long stripe up the line of his muscle before kissing open-mouthed everywhere his sight lands.

“Don’t get too distracted, now,” Patroclus reminds.

“I won’t, sir,” Zagreus says, blinking up at them, before grinning a bit deviously. “After all, I don’t know how much time I’ll have, here in the tent of the great hero Achilles.”

Achilles groans, and Zagreus wagers it’s only part because of how he bit his inner thigh. “I should never have let you two meet, clearly.”

“I’d have been very offended if you kept him from me,” Patroclus says, lips twitching with the effort of keeping a smile from coming on. “I’ve not had so much fun in some time.” He pauses, before adding, “Great hero Achilles.”

“Zeus’ thunder,” Achilles mumbles. “There are two of them.”

“Sorry, sir,” Zagreus says, only somewhat sincere and certain they can hear it. “If you want some of Zeus’ thunder I might be able to help you out in a few chambers, though.”

Patroclus loses the fight against himself and chuckles, reaching around Achilles to ruffle Zagreus’ hair. “Perhaps you’ll not be so hesitant about filling his mouth now.”

At least Patroclus thinks it’s funny, otherwise Zagreus might be feeling more troubled now about giving in to his impulse to joke even in this situation. “I hope not, sir,” he says brightly, which doubles as a tease and a truth, and kisses Achilles’ tip without any warning.

“He has beautiful lips, doesn’t he,” Patroclus says.

“Don’t you start again,” Achilles shoots back, but his eyes are just as glued to the sight as Patroclus’ are.

Zagreus laps at the head, licking the precome dribbling from the slit. It’s a particular kind of pleasure of itself to see Achilles’ expression change with every movement, to see how his mouth opens when Zagreus licks down the vein of his cock to mouth at his balls, how his head tips back onto Patroclus when Zagreus kisses back up to the top and then takes in as much as he can.

“Oh, love,” Achilles gasps, “Your mouth—”

He’s not sure if his own expression makes it clear, the surprise he feels at the pet name. Love, again. They’re still saying it. And he’s—almost—he’s _almost_ even _feeling—_

No. He shouldn’t let himself think on that right now. He tries not to let any hesitation show in his work, though, at least. He relaxes his throat to fit more of Achilles’ cock in, knowing his eyes must be watering and hoping it looks appealing rather than worrisome.

“Fuck,” Patroclus swears.

Good. Appealing, then.

Zagreus draws back, adding some extra suction at the tip before letting Achilles’ cock fall from his mouth completely, though he still strokes gently at the base. “Would you like to fuck my face, sir?”

Achilles blinks a couple of times like he’s trying to parse the sentence. What he finally responds with is a concerned look, and, “Would you like it if I did?”

“Very much so, sir.”

He relaxes. “Look at you, so sweet,” he murmurs, leaning forward to cup Zagreus’ cheek in his hand. “Do you enjoy giving pleasure, lad?”

Well, that’s an obvious answer, if a bit awkward. He nods, leaning into Achilles’ hand.

“Such a kind boy, aren’t you.” Zagreus opens his mouth to respond, then furrows his brows as he realizes he’s really not sure how to respond to that, or how to deal with that heat it evokes inside. Achilles smiles. “It’s true, love, I see it all the time. Always looking to help, always lending a listening ear, always doing your best for others.” His hand wisps over Zagreus’ face, to the back of his neck, up into his hair. “And here, letting me love you like this,” he says quietly. “Letting me have you.”

Zagreus gulps. It feels like he’s laying himself too bare to say it, but he whispers, “You’ve always had me.”

Achilles’ smile is so tender it feels like a caress directly to his heart. “And I cannot even begin to thank you for that.” He pets the back of Zagreus’ hair, then bends down to softly kiss Zagreus.

Gods, it’s so soft it almost hurts. His heart feels like it could _burst_ with feeling, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“How on earth did you get there from face-fucking,” Patroclus says, hushed but obviously incredulous.

It breaks the moment, and Zagreus can’t stop himself from laughing.

“Pat,” Achilles says, disappointment dripping from the single syllable.

“It’s a valid question, I think! Nobody’s ever called face-fucking romantic.”

Without answering, Achilles turns to Zagreus and says, “See, things like this are why I get disappointed in _him_. You’re far too sweet.”

“Now you’re being rude, sir,” Zagreus says with a grin. As nervous as he gets, the atmosphere between them is always so comfortable and warm that it’s easy to get swept up in it.

Achilles smiles back and kisses him again, on the lips and then the crown of his head. “You’re right, lad. I’m never disappointed in you, Patroclus.” He considers and jokes, “But I might reconsider if Zagreus changes his mind.”

“I absolutely have not,” Zagreus responds firmly. Not about the face-fucking, romantic or no, and not…about this.

Not if being with them means he gets to feel like this, whether that lasts or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you follow me on twitter you would have seen that i had just an entire meltdown about not wanting to describe the taste of achilles' come yesterday, which led to me getting stuck on that one section for hours and writing a brief paragraph about ghostbusters orgies. u will note. that i ended up removing any reference to taste at all lol. o, the ghosts of once were. (i also had to rewrite a whole section in which i went in a uhh WEIRD direction with patroclus' fantasy) but anyway this is, you know. here now. :P also while we're making confessions about shit i got stuck on, i spent a while trying to figure out how chitons would come off, u will note the fruits of my labor above also, instead of just saying like 'he took that shit off' 
> 
> anyway sorry for the facefuckin' cliffhanger, it woulda made this chapter wicked long. we've finally hit the place of my portending: chapter 8 is not even started yet my friends. so it'll get up, you know, hopefully on the end of sooner than later. but also not until its done, as tends to be the case with such things,,?? so until then :P


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: low self esteem (arguably), mention of hades' bad parenting, this chapter completes this fic's descent into 'oops pretty firmly d/s' so i apologize if you were reading this not anticipating that bc i didn't either, brief mentions of pain kink, patroclus kiiiiind of pushes boundaries a bit--not like in any kind of devious way, but as example, he notices that zagreus has a subby streak so he kinda moves things there without talking about it, tho he later apologizes, and they all have safe words/actions and all, achilles ends up getting a bit rough (with consent) and that ends up hurting zagreus' throat a bit beyond what he wants, zagreus only discloses his pain when specifically asked, they end up having another talk about safe sex and specifically about speaking up when you want/need something different than what's going on

When Patroclus had finally met with Achilles again after their deaths, he’d been surprised at how much Achilles had changed. He had become less brash, more quiet. Less bold, maybe, and a little bit more lost.

Life—or afterlife, rather—happened in front of him, and he just watched and let it.

Patroclus understands. It’s not really as though he was any different. But that doesn’t mean he was going to let things pass his beloved by, either. It would be fine if it were just him, but, well. It’s not. It’s Achilles, and Patroclus would give Achilles whatever he desires, should it be in his power.

Discovering what Achilles desired most was no trial. Achilles was always more transparent than he would probably like to be, and especially never to Patroclus. And for that matter, they are different people, but their tastes converge in many ways.

Like, for example, when it comes to a certain god.

Zagreus reminds Patroclus so much of how he and Achilles were when they were living: young, and brave, with boundless potential. And wounded, too, fighting to prove something and to get somewhere—but perhaps unlike them, he’s full of so much light and kindness, the sort of man who fights to help others above himself but still always has a smile to spare.

So. Of course he cares for Zagreus. Patroclus thinks it likely, really, that there are few people who aren’t charmed by the lad. (Though he has a suspicion, from a few past conversations, a few storms that have passed over Achilles’ face, that he might know of at least one.)

If it were just him, he mightn’t have said anything. He could tell the lad felt something for him, yes, because if Achilles lacks subtlety Zagreus has barely heard the word, but—when it comes to it, Zagreus is also a god. Men like Patroclus, pathetic shades wasting themselves away in forgotten corners of the underworld, are not made for the gods.

But Achilles wanted him. Wanted him, and was hurting for it.

And Patroclus isn’t made for the gods, but he knows beyond doubt his soul was made for Achilles.

He told Achilles he wanted Zagreus, and that it would be good. He didn't pray this would be true. He no longer has much trust in the gods. But he—hoped, at least, hoped beyond hope he would not make a liar of himself through his weakness.

By the time anything happens, he feared the opposite is true. He kept talking to Zagreus, who emanates appeal like the sun gives off heat, and he kept thinking about him after he’s gone, and after a while he found he’d fucked things up by actually falling in _love_ with the boy.

That, he had never intended. It was fine to like him. It was fine to feel lust for him. But if he fell in love, well. That meant he actually _cared_ about whether Zagreus joins them or not. It meant, if Zagreus doesn’t, he’ll—

He’d told Zagreus there was nothing left to be disappointed over, now that he’s dead. He’d thought it was true, even.

But gods above, would he be disappointed if Zagreus didn’t love him as much as he loved Zagreus.

It’s a vulnerability he wasn’t anticipating, and didn’t strictly appreciate. Especially when the boy seemed to be avoiding them, and Achilles was refusing to _do_ anything about it, and Patroclus was fairly certain he wasn’t wrong in thinking Zagreus felt something at least for them, so _why,_ and it didn't surprise him to hear Achilles had thrown things into disarray but it did bother him. He told him to fix it. He told him to risk it all.

He didn't say, _I need this as much as you do_. Or, _I have to trust you’ll make this work somehow, because you’re stationed in the House, but all I can do is wait for the Fates to send him to me, and they’ve not been on my side thus far._

After that conversation, after Achilles left for the courtyard, he did something particularly uncharacteristic, and maybe at least a little bit stupid.

Out loud, he said, “O Fates.” He winced at the informality of it. “I mean. O glorious—ah, excellent…lovely…?” That’s laying it on overly thick, especially when he doesn’t even know if they’re listening. Or if they’re lovely, for that matter. “O Fates. Look. I’m dead already. I know I’m of no particular concern to you three. But you know Zagreus, yes? I know he’s well acquainted with your mother. So you must know how good he is. And I don’t know if that’s something you care about, but if you do, what I wanted to say is—I want the best for him. I think he deserves that. And I suppose I cannot even try to have the audacity to claim Achilles and I are that best thing, but if you only give us the chance to plead our case, and if he accepts.” He looked down at his clasped hands, frowning at the thought of the alternative. “If he accepts,” Patroclus repeated. “I promise, we’ll love him with everything we are.”

He had been left feeling silly, and a bit melancholic. But then—not too long after—he had gone to fetch Achilles from the courtyard, and instead seen him down the hill—

Him, and Zagreus.

Technically, it’s not as though he knew his impromptu prayer had done anything. But it would be safer to give thanks anyway, so he grinned and said, “Thank you, O Fates,” and hung just inside the doorway out to the courtyard while he watches them walking back.

Patroclus didn’t want to watch for long, no, not when they’d been given this chance. But he’d give Achilles a chance to talk first, he’d thought. Besides. There’s watching and then there’s observing—observing people’s faces, their bodies, to tell their thoughts, for example. Or observing a situation to figure out the best timing.

Patroclus won’t watch. But he will observe, and then, he’ll keep his promise in full.

—Now, too.

Zagreus is so open, whether it’s intentional or not, that everything he does reveals something about him and his preferences. The way his eyes glaze over a moment when he’s praised, despite how his eyebrows draw together just as briefly like he’s uncertain if he should accept the kindness. How he leans into even the smallest touch, how his eyelashes flutter when he feels pain, how quick he is to kneel and obey.

He really is a perfect boy. Perfect for them. Patroclus longs to spoil him rotten.

But it’s not his time yet. Observe, as Achilles carefully feeds his cock into Zagreus’ waiting mouth, strokes his hand along the lad’s face with part concern and part wonderment. Trying to make facefucking romantic once again or something. He supposes that might just be Achilles’ own way of spoiling him, the sap.

Observe: Zagreus is the one to push forward when Achilles hesitates, the one to move Achilles’ hand to his hair.

“Oh,” Achilles breathes, petting over his hair again, then taking a gentle grip. When he thrusts, it’s just as gentle.

Only for so long, though.

Patroclus going back to Achilles’ nipples might be a contributor on that front. He always goes completely to pieces when Patroclus plays with them, enough so that he used to tease him that he may have been lowered into the Styx by his chest rather than his heel. Though that might be less funny a joke, after everything.

(No, actually. Thinking on it, it’s still funny.)

Even after all this time, seeing Achilles’ mouth fall open, seeing the flush rise to his cheeks, seeing all of that careful composure stripped away—it’s like nothing else, a pleasure reserved for Patroclus only. And Zagreus, now, too, he supposes, though that does less to reduce the headiness of the sight and much more to increase it. He’s rather looking forward to teaching the lad everything that makes Achilles scream, and discovering thoroughly what makes Zagreus do the same.

One day, he thinks, he’ll take it slow, slower than Zagreus can bear. He’ll catalogue each and every thing that makes the prince so much as twitch, he’ll try every trick he knows and figure out what his stranger likes best, and then he’ll use all that knowledge to utterly destroy him before building him back up again with his lovers’ names engraved deep inside.

Yes. There are many things to look forward to, for the first time in his afterlife, and it’s all thanks to the lad between Achilles’ thighs. He tamps down the rush of feeling in his chest and whispers, “Look at his lips, Achilles.”

Achilles moans, and his slow, solid rhythm stutters. “Patroclus, you can’t—”

Amused, he asks, “I can’t talk to you while you’re fucking his face?” He tweaks a nipple. “What, are you concerned you might come too quickly, then?” Simultaneously—and very much purposely—times a thrust of his own against Achilles’ back to when Achilles himself is thrusting into Zagreus’ mouth. It takes him a bit further into Zagreus than he was planning.

“Zagreus,” Achilles says, attention taken off Patroclus for a moment, which is unwise but understandable. Achilles doesn’t always take in as much as Patroclus does, and less after so long on a largely decorative guard duty. Perhaps otherwise he’d have noticed how the lad whimpered when Achilles went deeper.

Or perhaps, Patroclus acknowledges, Achilles would have asked after him anyway, because he’s simply a kind man.

“You can go deeper,” Zagreus says with those striking eyes wide and luminous with the start of fresh tears. “I can take it. I want to take it— _you,_ sir, to take you as deep as I can. Please.”

Perfect.

While Achilles stares down at the boy in awe and lust, Patroclus finishes the process of removing his chiton, wads everything up and tosses it over the side of the bed before returning to Achilles to press his chest and cock right up against him.

Achilles gasps, not having expected the bare skin. Good. That was Patroclus’ intention in the first place. And Zagreus…his expression borders somewhere between reverence and hunger, which is far more than Patroclus deserves from a god, but flattering regardless. Especially because he’s not even seen most of him yet, draped over Achilles as he is.

Patroclus flashes Zagreus a minute wink. He’ll let him satisfy that hunger in full, later. “Well? You heard our prince, didn’t you?”

Achilles blinks. “I—”

“Give him everything you have,” Patroclus says, smoothing his hands over Achilles’ chest, down and down until they’re resting just nearly at his manhood. “It’s only polite, with such a kind offer.” The tip of his index finger trails over one of Achilles’ balls. “Yes? And Zagreus, if he’s going too hard or you need a break, you can just tap his thigh twice. See. All solved.”

“Yes, sir,” Zagreus says, attentive like Patroclus has just taught him the secret to life rather than how to stop his face being fucked by an already overcautious sentimentalist.

Achilles sighs. “I’m no match for the two of you, clearly.” He purses his lips, then says, “All right. Open up then, love.”

Zagreus willingly concedes, and Achilles bends over to kiss him first, a sloppy open-mouthed thing that leaves Zagreus panting becomingly, before standing up. They readjust themselves slightly, then Achilles feeds his cock into Zagreus’ mouth. With one last check on the lad’s expression, he snaps his hips forward and buries his cock to the back of Zagreus’ throat.

Zagreus gags, but wiggles his hand when Achilles falters, showing he’s not tapped out yet. Achilles continues, hesitant at first but then bolder as Zagreus continues to take him magnificently.

“Oh, gods,” he groans, putting the hand that’s not on the back of Zagreus’ head on his cheek to wipe a tear falling from his eye. “Zagreus, oh, you look so beautiful like this, if only you could see yourself—”

He does look beautiful. If Patroclus had the gems to commission a portrait, and the willingness to share this moment with another, he’d hang the result somewhere he could see every day. He’s not even entirely certain Zagreus would object.

Patroclus takes in as much as he can for one good, long look—how Zagreus keeps eye contact even through the tears, how he can’t quite take the deepest of Patroclus’ thrusts without gagging but doesn’t seem to mind, how his fist is clenched next to his thigh, not quite touching his erect cock but twitching now and then like he’s only barely keeping himself from it. How he’s doing that without even being asked.

_(Perfect.)_

He drinks it in a last moment, then goes about his own objective. Achilles always puts their bottle of oil within reach of the bed, so that’s easy enough to lean over and procure. And while his ass is not always in reach of the bed, it certainly is right now.

Easy enough to oil up a finger and slide it down the cleft of Achilles’ cheeks.

Achilles moans before he remembers he’s pretending to be scandalized for some reason. “Pat!”

“I’m being efficient,” Patroclus says, blinking in feigned innocence. “Do you have any complaints, Zagreus?”

Zagreus’ eyes are as round as saucers. “I might burn through your floor,” he says in a raspy, throat-fucked voice, “Does that count as a complaint?”

“Only if you want it to be one,” Patroclus responds, tilting his head, then smiling as blankly as he can manage. “But I thought we agreed you would control yourself. Yes?”

That fist at his thighs turns to claws that he digs into his skin, as he bites his lips around a whine. “Y-yes. Yes, of course, sir.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. “So good for us,” Patroclus murmurs, as reward and truth both.

Precome dribbles from his cock, and his voice catches on a gasp. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, will you keep being good by letting Achilles use your mouth while I open him up?”

Zagreus pauses, and Patroclus draws back from Achilles to fix his eyes more firmly on Zagreus. “Say no, if you don’t want to. Don’t say yes because you think I want to hear it.” It’s been a concern of his. He doesn’t want to push the boy too hard, past what he likes into what he thinks _they’ll_ like.

Zagreus bites his lip. “Well…”

“You’re still good, either way. I promise,” Patroclus says in his calmest voice, extricating himself fully from Achilles to sit on the edge of the bed and rest his hand on Zagreus’ shoulder. “What do you want to do?” Achilles hangs back, looking troubled.

“I don’t want you to take this to mean I didn’t like it, because I did,” Zagreus starts, all in a rush. “I really liked it. I liked that you were rough with me, and used your strength, and—I liked that. But right now my throat and jaw are both really sore. Not in, um, a good way. And it will get better soon enough like how most of my injuries do, and I’m sure eventually I’ll get used to that sort of thing, but I’d like a rest from it for the moment.” He swallows. “If that’s okay. I’m sorry.”

The apologies, like there’s something wrong with him having an opinion.

Patroclus wouldn’t stand a chance against the one he suspects played a part in this, but he briefly fantasizes about trying it anyway.

“Zagreus,” Patroclus says, trying to be gentle, as much as he can. Gentle usually sounds better on Achilles. “Thank you for telling us. It’s much better to say these things before someone gets hurt. If Achilles was hurting somewhere—threw out his back, maybe, he’s getting older—”

“Hey,” Achilles admonishes, knowing both that shades don’t age or throw out their backs, and that he’s trying to lighten the mood by making a joke.

“Fine, if you’re going to be a brat about it. You stub your toe. Somehow.” Patroclus waves his hands irritably. “It doesn’t matter. If he got hurt, and you didn’t know, and you accidentally did something that made that injury worse, that wouldn’t feel good, right?”

Zagreus actually looks horrified. “It would feel awful.”

“Yes. And if he told you ahead of time, I have this really awful stubbed toe, so don’t fuck my toe tonight—”

Zagreus snorts, which was more or less the intention. Achilles looks like he regrets saying anything, which was the other part of the intention.

“Would he need to apologize for that? Would he need to feel sorry for not wanting to make things worse?”

Zagreus sounds a bit sheepish when he says, “No, sir.”

“So you don’t need to wait for anyone to ask if you’re not feeling up to something. Achilles isn’t…” Patroclus searches for the word. “He isn’t owed your mouth just because he started there. There are plenty of other things to be done, if you want it, and if you were ever to want to stop completely, that’s fine too.”

“I don’t,” Zagreus says immediately.

“Then we won’t. But speak up for yourself, all right, lad? We can always pause things a moment to discuss how best to achieve the most satisfying and painless orgasms for everybody.” Patroclus raises his eyebrows. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Patroclus frowns down at himself, then adds more quietly, “And—the yes-sirs and no-sirs, me ordering you around and all. I try to keep an eye on things, but I’m not always…right.” Oh, gods, Achilles is starting to grin at that. He shoots him a glare. “So if there’s ever anything I’m doing, something I’m saying you’re uncomfortable with. Anything like that. There’s always the word, or tapping if you can’t use your mouth, so on. Punch me if you need to. I don’t want to force you into anything.” His scowl intensifies, though at himself, not Zagreus. “We really should have talked about this before getting into everything. That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Zagreus looks up at him thoughtfully, then knee-walks over to be closer to Patroclus and gives him a hug around his midsection. “It’s okay. You haven’t forced me into anything. Really. And—I’m a god, you know? If I didn’t want anything, I could just…” He wiggles his hands around ambiguously, then gives up. “Burn you with my feet, or something.”

He looks nauseous only having said that out loud. Patroclus can’t help but laugh, loud and rich and bright like he does so rarely (but more often, now, with Achilles returned and Zagreus alongside), and hugs Zagreus back.

He’s not sure, still, if the Fates were the ones who answered his prayer. But if they were—perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps they do still, sometimes, have consideration for the dead. Enough to give them a chance with someone who will complete them perfectly, even if that someone is a god.

“Thank you, my stranger,” Patroclus murmurs. “Truly.”

“And on that note. If I’m going to be speaking up for myself,” Zagreus says, a bit timid but with no apologies this time, “I should note that it’s very hot when you tell me I can’t burn things, no pun intended there, but I really actually can’t guarantee that I won’t.”

Patroclus kisses his head.

It’s a strange thing, to feel happy. Strange indeed, and stranger still that his happiness would come in death from a demigod and a god with flaming feet, when he is only one Patroclus, and not much of one besides.

Strange. But he looks inside himself, and observes he is right now a happy man.

He smiles into Zagreus’ hair, and says, “If you set the whole house on fire, we’ll just have to build another one. We have time.”

He’s no optimist, but he thinks he may actually think that’s true.

So maybe he’s changed as well, and maybe that’s not a bad thing, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise its patroclus! thanks to uhh a twitter poll i ran late at night XD still trying to decide whether ill do next chapter as patroclus too or whether ill move back to zag, tho im leaning mentally towards the latter or for a brief jaunt with achilles. but we'll see. it was fun to do pat tho, i have vague plans for a sequel to this entirely in his pov but im gonna be real here writing fic is like in large part an exercise in giving a character i like a lot of issues and then having someone else (or multiple someones) just like, unabashedly clearly love them anyway, and the best part of that is when theyre like, just poleaxed by how lovely or sweet someone is!! i love that shit!! i will never ever be tired of it!! idec if pat is ooc here because i am making him love zagreus a lot! (thats a lie i care a little bit) (or i care a lot but my self esteem is fragile so lets just not speak about it lol)
> 
> anyway WHEW this chapter was a slog to get through. i am actually incredibly disinterested in...like...the Act of facefucking...but i had already set it up in the last chapter so,, i did it but then veered towards another Talk at the end there lol. im sorry theres been so much Talking but pls understand...a) zagreus isnt really coming at some things from the entirely right place and b) talking is much easier to write than sexing lol
> 
> also! i forgot to mention that last chapter i continued some earlier research on ancient greek underwear, so gonna dump that here. turns out underwear: not much of a thing! from what i could find, caveat there for 'i just did a lot of googles ok', there were some variants of loincloths, and also a thing where they tied up their dicks, but these seemed to be used in war and athletics as well as some other professions, and theres not evidence they were worn underneath clothing but instead to replace it. though like. so if youre wondering why everybody heres been freeballin its because MAYBE ACCURACY BABY!! (also leggings are bs) (again NEAR AS I CAN TELL but i did my research a long time back and while there were socks called piloi, they seemed to be basically like, ankle, maybe mid-calf at best, and idk how common they were, very little info about them rly. also in general i saw a couple of places mention, disclaimer disclaimer, that the ancient greeks thought pants were ‘barbaric’, so--i mean like. its a video game, who gives a shit, and he canonically has legging thingies. but also. ...theyre bs lol, probably. ps the piloi were made of matted animal hair so now there's an image for everybody writin fic about his form-fittin leggings right, im including myself here LOL. doesnt cerberus have red hair...HMMM....jkjk stop image-ing it, ick)
> 
> EDIT: oh god my tenses are so fucky in the first bit of the chapter. me and past tense dont get along, i tried to catch the more glaring bits but my head hurts so there might be more of it where i couldn't decide what the correct tense would be. please no corrections, grammar is fake la la la


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: brief mention of how zag is affected by the expectations of his father, low self esteem, insecurity, a few tears

“Funny, how not minutes ago, you accused me of being a romantic,” Achilles says, smile spreading slowly.

“You’ve always been a romantic,” Patroclus shoots back. “It’s never borne pointing out, until you attempted to bring facefucking into it. What’s so funny about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Achilles says nonchalantly. “Only that you seem to be afflicted with the same condition.”

“I’ve acquitted the lad of arson. Where’s the romance in that?” He snorts. “I shudder to think of your idea of a romantic evening.”

“You deflect when you know I’m right,” Achilles teases. “And you know full well what my idea of a romantic evening is, I should think.”

Zagreus only stays in Patroclus’ arms as they bicker, a bit dazed. Shades don’t usually have much in the way of temperature—not cold, just not much of anything—but Zagreus feels warm regardless. He’s been in the fires of Asphodel, but this is still a heat he’s never known, and it feels like he’s only touched the edge of it.

Being—loved. Properly, unconditionally. This is…something like how it feels, right?

Not that he’s never been loved at all. Of course not. Nyx always clearly cared for him, even if she kept a certain degree of distance. And his friends—Meg, Than, Hypnos—they love him too, he knows that. But he’s never been able to fully relax around them, always feeling he had to _be_ someone, someone funnier and happier and more energetic and less—vulnerable.

Someone who isn’t affected by his father, but is also fit to be his father’s son.

So maybe it’s not even so much that he’s never been loved, but that he’s never let anyone love him for who he is, because he’s never let anybody see that person.

But he knows Patroclus and Achilles see anyway, see _through_ him, and they’re still—even with everything, how he keeps stopping things and disobeying orders and being _weak—_ they’re still loving him.

It feels like there’s some—breakthrough, there, something hiding just behind his eyelids. But he can’t concentrate on it, because he’s stuck on a loop of, _they love me? Really? Really-really, they love me? They love me. They do?,_ the confusion coming back to the forefront of his mind.

Patroclus stops talking to Achilles and holds Zagreus closer, whispering into his ear, “Good tears or bad?”

Zagreus hadn’t even noticed he was crying. “Good, I think,” he says.

“If that changes let me know.” Patroclus rubs his hand over his back. “You still want to keep going?”

Confused as he is, Zagreus responds honestly. “If you try to stop me I’ll keep going on my own and come all over both of you.”

Patroclus barks out a laugh. “Oh no,” he drawls while Zagreus realizes what he’s said and winces. “What a punishment.”

“You really are trouble,” Zagreus accuses without any heat, realizing his tears are starting to dry up. “I _could_ burn you.”

Patroclus kisses his eyelids and draws back. “You wouldn’t,” he says, amused, then winks. “And won’t, right?”

Zagreus remembers their play and wipes his face of the tears, leaving only a grin behind. “Uh, yeah. Right. Sir.”

“What do you two whisper about, anyway?” Achilles asks from next to them. “I feel left out.”

“You can whisper anytime you like,” Patroclus says brusquely. “We only talked about how nosy you are.”

“Rude again,” Zagreus says, shaking himself out and standing up to look down at them with a soft smile. “I think I’d like to touch you both. Is that all right?”

Achilles exchanges a questioning glance with Patroclus, and whatever he finds there appears to assuage any fears he had. He beckons to Zagreus. “Come to the bed, love. I’d love nothing more.”

There’s nothing elegant about the ensuing events. They have to shuffle around until they can find a position that works where they can all touch one another how they wish, settling on a kind of awkward triangle. Once they do, it’s still not pretty, how Zagreus nervously takes one cock in either hand, trying to keep an eye on what they like so he can repeat the action. But once he stops thinking so hard about it, and Achilles and Patroclus start to kiss one another, and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths because of _him,_ it’s…easy. Easy to just be there with them.

Achilles stills his hand at some point. “Lad, I’m getting closer,” he says breathily. “We can continue like this until we come, or would you like to do something else?”

Frankly, he could probably come like this too, or close to it anyway. Seeing them together, hearing them, feeling their skin under his hands—it’s more than he ever thought he’d get in the first place, and too much to comprehend if he gets himself caught up in it. But.

“I need—you—at least one of you. Inside me. Please.”

“Certainly not something you need to beg for,” Patroclus says dryly, then his lips purse. “Today.”

Achilles flaps weakly at him, like he’s shooing away an animal, but with the rubbery limbs of someone trying to remember how their body works. “You,” is all he says, to Patroclus, and then to Zagreus, “That, we can certainly give you. Do you have—ah—a preference for, er, positioning, or—”

“Um…” It’s not as though he hasn’t thought about it, but he’s thought about so _many_ things that there’s not really one that jumps out. “Not in particular?”

“I imagine I could concoct something that would be pleasing to everyone here,” Patroclus volunteers. (Zagreus feels a degree of personal offense at how coherent he seems to be, even at this point, at the same time as a flush of anticipation runs through him.)

“Of course you’d say that,” Achilles says, somewhere between exasperated and fond. “Imagine away, I suppose.”

“Why, you needn’t give me permission. I rarely stop,” Patroclus says with a lascivious smile.

“I’m quite sure you know what I mean,” Achilles huffs.

Patroclus drops a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re awfully fun to tease, is all.”

“I think you may think that of everyone,” Achilles says wryly. “You’ve been teasing our prince here ever since he got here, and long before.”

“I _certainly_ don’t tease everyone the way I tease you two,” Patroclus says, smile widening to a grin.

Zagreus watches them with a soft smile of his own. It’s only just dawned on him, and only a little bit, that he can do this now and be allowed, and not only that, he can do it from—the inside. Without wanting, without yearning, without having to tear his eyes away.

It’s…presumptuous, to be sure, and he can’t know the future, or—he can’t know. He shouldn’t bother thinking it.

But it worms its way into his mind regardless, that maybe one day, he can be this comfortable with them too.

Achilles pushes himself forward and cups Zagreus’ cheek. “What’s that look for?” he asks, his smile crinkling his eyes at the corners.

“You’re just both very sweet, that’s all.” He turns his head to the side and kisses Achilles’ wrist. “It’s nice to see.”

Achilles searches his face, then comes even closer to kiss Zagreus’ forehead. “You’re far sweeter, my love.” He falls back on his heels to plant a big kiss on Patroclus’ forehead as well. “My two best loves.”

“Don’t know what you find so sweet about two old men arguing,” Patroclus says dismissively, though Zagreus thinks he might be a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, one old man and one man in the prime of his afterlife, despite the bum toe.” He clicks his tongue at Achilles’ expression.

He suddenly sits up a bit straighter. “But…hm. If it’s sweetness you want.” He crawls forward until he looms over Zagreus, devious written all over his handsome features. “Achilles, this is Zagreus’ first time with us, yes?”

“…Yes,” Achilles says wearily, clearly used to that expression.

“So we should give him every inch of pleasure we can possibly give. Why, look at this poor lad, been servicing us so long without anything for himself.”

“I don’t mind that, sirs,” Zagreus pipes up, slightly confused and slightly wary. “I like—”

“I know, I know, but just for this first time, right? A treat to keep our dear pup coming back for more.”

Zagreus’ brows knit. “I’m no dog, sir.”

“I know,” Patroclus stage whispers. “Allow an old man his theatrics, would you?”

“Out with it, already, Patroclus,” Achilles says, rubbing his temple. “For all you tell me I can’t get to the point quick enough.”

“No fun in the least,” he murmurs overdramatically. “Fine. Look, lad, here’s how I figure. Achilles has been longing to fuck you for longer than I knew you existed, I’m certain. It makes sense enough for him to be the first one to do it.”

Zagreus can feel his blush returning, thinking of Achilles _longing_ to be in him. “Oh, I mean—”

“And if we’re going to give you as much pleasure as we can manage, why, I think it makes just as much sense to give you someone in you and someone around you, right?” Patroclus smirks, eyes gleaming in that way of his. “I don’t receive as often as I give, but I confess that I’m curious what it’s like to be fucked by a god.”

Zagreus gulps under the strength of his dark gaze. “I…well, I’d certainly like…but…sir, if you’d not like to—”

“Nonsense. You’ll ensure I like it, won’t you? You’ll fuck me nice and proper, until my curiosity is _fully_ sated.” He tilts his head. “Since I’m being so sweet.”

As Zagreus only stares, blush coming back in full force, Patroclus changes to a true whisper and leans to him. “But only in the same sense as burning feet thing, of course, and only if you’d like it.”

“No, no, I would, if it’s truly all right.” He impulsively kisses him, a sloppy thing. “Thank you, sir,” he breathes as he draws back, blinking as coyly as he can manage.

Patroclus’ inhale hitches as he watches him, and Zagreus silently congratulates himself. It’s a reaction, if only a small one.

He’ll make him louder when he’s inside him, he swears. He’ll please him so much he’ll have no choice but to say Zagreus’ name—no, to _praise_ him—

He bites his lip at the rush of heat the thought brings up from his gut. “Achilles, sir? Is that all right with you?”

“Lad, I’d be honored.” He comes forward, too, to kiss Zagreus until Zagreus can only gasp into his mouth. “Patroclus didn’t lie about how long I’ve wanted you, after all,” he murmurs, and Zagreus moans.

Gods, maybe it was for the best he could never dream of this, back then. It could only disappoint in comparison to the reality of what it feels like to be wanted by them.

“Right,” Patroclus says, digging up the vial of oil from where it had rolled under a pillow. “Ready, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger again and that not much happened in this chapter, i decided to give myself a lil, uh, palate cleanser lol? wanted to get a chapter out, didn't want to force myself to write sex today. i'm v tired and headachey lol. buuuut it'll happen next time! i took a while trying to think of what position could happen that would be interesting for me to write, i thought i wanted zag in the middle somehow but didn't want to bother with oral shit again, and eventually decided that pat as a dom bottom with zag trying to please him 'well enough' while achilles is doing his best to make him losing his mind would be...sufficiently interesting. :P so that's what we'll be goin withhhh--well, me, and you dragged along with me l o l ty for ur patience,,
> 
> oh sidenote, i reiterate that zag isnt gonna be totally better after or during this, he's getting slightly more adjusted to the idea they love him but like, you can get more accustomed to an idea in a moment and then, you know, go downhill again. ill address it u_u


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: an incredibly brief and dumb joke about, uh, a baby having its mind in the gutter?, concern about improper preparation for anal sex, war mention, they talk about zagreus like he's not there but he gets off on it, kind of edging?, a bit of overstimulation, insecurity, low self esteem, some d/s-y stuff again, crying during sex but it's good tears

Of course he’s ready. That’s perhaps the dumbest question he’s ever been asked. He’d say he was born ready, even, if that didn’t have mildly disturbing implications.

“Absolutely, sir,” he says instead. “How would you like me?”

“Too many ways to go over in the time we’ve been given,” Patroclus says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “But at the moment, middle of the bed, yes? Achilles can prepare you, and I suppose it might be simplest if I prepare myself.”

Zagreus finds himself pouting a bit. “But…” If this is such a rare experience…

He pats his thigh. It feels condescending, but in a way Zagreus doesn’t entirely mind. “All you have to do is fuck me good enough I want a next time, right?”

Zagreus nearly chokes on air, with how fast the arousal shoots up into his throat.

Gods, but Patroclus is sexy. And so clearly aware of it, too, clearly aware of how his every action impacts Zagreus, and with how his eyes narrow in a kind of pleased smile of their own—

“Pat, really,” Achilles sighs. “You’ll break him.”

“Only a little,” Patroclus purrs, this time with a full smile, and Zagreus can barely breathe a moment.

“I’m fine with that,” he squeaks, and Achilles sighs again, but fonder. He kisses Zagreus, slow and affectionate.

“You’re too sweet to us,” he says. “I can’t imagine what we could have done to deserve it.”

Zagreus blinks at him, then surges forward to return Achilles’ kiss. “You’re _you,_ ” he says simply. “Both of you, you…” He shakes his head, incapable of explaining the magnitude of the space they fill in his heart. “You only ever had to be you,” he says instead, and hopes Achilles understands like he so often does.

They both stare at him.

Achilles kisses him, tender and heartfelt and lovely, and says, “I feel the same way about you.”

Patroclus coughs awkwardly and shoves the tip of his oiled finger into his ass.

Zagreus is caught between love and a kind of concerned lust (how long has it been since Patroclus has done this, anyway? Wouldn’t that have hurt? He supposes they’re shades and all, but—) and ends up blurting out, “Thanks. Does Patroclus know how to prepare himself?”

Achilles hides an amused smile behind his hand.

“Patroclus does,” the man in question growls, “And he could ask you two the same. So slow.” He punctuates his point by dipping the finger further in his ass, with only a slight wince before he brings another finger into play.

“He’s done it for me many a time, no worries, Zagreus,” Achilles says. “He’s just awkward about emotional intimacy.”

“Patroclus is right here,” he says, affronted and scissoring his fingers.

“We became used to quick preparation, when we were at war,” Achilles continues explaining, before his expression shifts to something filthier. “But none of that now. I want to take my time with you.”

Zagreus blinks and nods, dazed.

“Lie down, would you? We can trade spaces—yes, right next to Pat, there’s a good lad.”

Zagreus has to chew his lip to keep from making a small sound at even something so simple as being praised for knowing how to lie down. He’s so weak before them, weak _for_ them, but they seem not to mind in particular. Maybe even enjoy it, some.

And speaking of enjoyment—right next to Patroclus means right next to Patroclus opening himself, and his head right next to Patroclus’ ass, and he can’t keep himself from licking his lips when he sees it. “Fuck,” he murmurs quietly.

Patroclus notices, of course, and turns to look at him with a knowing grin. “Well, not quite yet.”

“We can only hope someday in this eternity he gets tired of that old joke,” Achilles says with a smile playing at his lips.

“No use hoping for that, I shan’t,” he declares, then with eyes drilling right into Zagreus, whispers, “I see where you’re looking.”

“It’s right there, and all,” Zagreus defends.

“It certainly is.” He scissors his fingers again so that Zagreus can see how his hole opens up and glistens from the oil.

Zagreus moans into his fist, and Patroclus looks about ready to continue before Achilles says, “Have mercy on the poor boy.” He strokes delicate fingers down Zagreus’ thigh—only a wisp of a touch, but it makes Zagreus shiver regardless. “If he keeps tensing up like that I won’t be able to get even one finger in him.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve an ass,” Patroclus argues. “How am I to have mercy? Do I put on my chlamys to cover my behind or simply chop it off entire?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Achilles says reproachfully, fingers still working on their own to dance their way to Zagreus’ inner thigh before rubbing idle circles into the soft flesh there. He ignores Zagreus’ sharp inhale and adds, “There’s a difference between having an ass and being an ass.”

“Zagreus, tell him he’s being mean again,” Patroclus says with an obviously fake whine.

“I would if I could talk,” Zagreus gasps out, one of Achilles’ hands having moved to play with his balls, the other rubbing lightly at the skin between them and his hole.

“That was talking,” Patroclus points out, then sighs. “But I’ll not blame you. He has clever hands, doesn’t he?”

Zagreus isn’t terribly concerned at the moment with the intelligence or lack thereof of Achilles’ hands, so much as how they’re setting his skin alight with sensation, a prickling sort of thing that makes his heart seize up and sends heat pooling at his groin. “Huh,” he says, the cleverest he himself can manage at the moment, and bites his lip.

“Gods, that’s a pretty sight,” Patroclus says under his breath, and then louder, “Wouldn’t you say?”

Zagreus almost reminds Patroclus he’s not up to saying much anything right now before Achilles responds. “Of course. He’s already such a beautiful boy outside the throes of pleasure.” He punctuates Zagreus’ desperate moan with his thumb circling around his hole. The lack of pressure makes Zagreus’ hips jerk up, seeking for more of his touch, and he tsks quietly and grabs a pillow to put under Zagreus’ hips. “It only follows he’d be even more beautiful like this.”

“His cheeks are so pink. Do you think he’s embarrassed?”

Fuck, if there’s anything embarrassing it’s how he still likes this, them talking about him like he’s not even there.

Achilles hums, stroking at Zagreus’ hole all the while, driving him crazy. “Perhaps. I imagine he’s mostly just aroused.” His touch is almost—loving, even for where it is he has his fingers, and Zagreus throws his arm over his eyes. His eyes were already closed, but it feels like he needs even more a barrier from this feeling, somehow. “Oh, love,” he murmurs. “Oh, my sweet love. Do you want more?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, because he may _want,_ but he’s not entirely certain he can _take_ more—more pressure, more of this feeling of love, more of feeling cared for and desired and safe. He nods anyway.

“Oil, please, Pat,” Achilles says, and there’s a rustle before something cold drizzles down the crease of his ass. He starts to rub it into the hole, and with another rustle, Zagreus feels a mouth on his nipples.

His eyes fly open, and he moves his arm to look down. He keens at the sight. “S-sir…”

Surprisingly, it’s not Achilles, but Patroclus bent over his torso. He smirks up at Zagreus and bites lightly at the nipple, then pulls off slow. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, tugging and rolling the nub between his index and thumb, and rumbles, “He may be almost as sensitive as you, here.”

Achilles colors slightly, but his unhurried pace circling at Zagreus’ entrance remains the same. “Oh?”

“You can see it, right? How he’s pushing his chest up into my hands.” Patroclus’ chuckle is dark and wonderful and Zagreus is definitely embarrassed now, at least, because he’s correct. He can’t seem to stop himself. “You know I love nothing more than a responsive partner. Perfect.”

“That’s true on both counts,” Achilles agrees, unashamed, and pushes in slightly even as he says, “Our perfect boy.”

Zagreus gasps loudly. His hips buck, pushing Achilles’ finger further in, and he thinks he’s never been so turned on with only one finger in like this before. The combination of their skilled hands and mouths, their unabashed praise, the slight humiliation of being talked about like he’s not here, the control they have over the situation, how they’re focusing all their attention solely on him, and the love evident in every movement has his mind a bit foggy with pleasure and heat burning deep in his gut.

Achilles tuts fondly, pulling the finger out, but not before tugging on the rim as he goes. “So impatient, hm? I even told him I wanted to take my time.”

“Sir,” Zagreus says weakly, hips thrusting up slightly again, seeking sensation. “Sir, please—”

“You did tell him that,” Patroclus says mildly. “I suppose I’d better strap in for the long haul myself.” He then busies himself by pressing kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, stopping at certain points only known to him to suck and bite bruises before continuing on.

As he does so, Achilles returns to his shallow fingerfucking, lightly kissing at Zagreus’ thighs now and then as he slowly, slowly goes deeper. Zagreus feels like he’s losing time in it, falling into someplace where he can only focus on the overwhelming feelings being stirred up in him. He’s so hard it aches, but he knows Achilles won’t speed up no matter how much he begs, and there’s a certain comfort in losing control to someone he trusts so much.

“He’s ready for another, I think,” Patroclus observes. “His pretty little hole is practically begging for more.”

“I don’t know. What do you think, love?”

Zagreus blinks a couple of times before remembering his words. “Whatever you want, sir,” he rasps out, and rewards himself with Achilles’ sweet smile.

“See? He’s fine with what I’m giving him.” He gives a congratulatory kiss to Zagreus’ belly button, trailing his lips down to just above the base of Zagreus’ cock, all with that same smile.

“You’re worse than I am sometimes,” Patroclus says, lips pursing with amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Achilles says blandly.

“You do.” Patroclus kisses Zagreus’ shoulder, then bites at his collarbone, laughing to himself when Zagreus only whines and pushes against him. “You have an evil streak buried in that romance of yours. You’ve edged the lad so hard he can scarcely speak, and that with only one finger. Don’t you feel bad for him, with this as our first time together?”

“You’ve not felt bad once for doing similar, I’ll point out.”

“No.” Patroclus grins. “Nor do I intend to without his complaint.”

“Then I’ll say the same. Pat.” He gives a punched-out sigh, the first real indication Zagreus has heard since Achilles started opening him that he’s affected by all this, and murmurs in a tone so utterly filthy Zagreus shudders with only one word from his mouth, “You must understand how _long_ I’ve been waiting. I have so many fantasies built up I can hardly think, hardly _breathe_ with him finally here under me—”

He strokes his cock with his free hand on apparent reflex, like he can’t keep his hands away for just this one moment of weakness, even as his finger spasms inside Zagreus. He makes a sound that seems equally involuntary, and turns the simmer of Zagreus’ arousal into an active boil. “If I could, I would ravage him for—days. Weeks. Months. However long it took to finally do everything I’ve thought of doing. But what I thought of most—oh, _Gods—_ ” He lets his head fall back with a ragged breath, and lets his finger quest about for Zagreus’ prostate, and then starts to rub against it in a merciless rhythm. “I wanted to spend hours praising him and taking him apart until he was too far gone to even beg.”

The orgasm takes everybody by surprise, but Zagreus most of all. Not in the sense that he’s surprised he could come to the man he’s loved and lusted after for most of his life talking about how much he’s wanted him, dirtier than Zagreus knew he could even be, and while massaging his prostate to boot—that’s not a shock in particular, no. But it rises in him so quickly and with such vehemence that it feels like going from boiling water to exploding lava in less than an instant.

“Fuck,” he moans, hips jerking up as his cock spurts come, “Sirs, oh, love you—”

It’s nothing particularly coherent, but it sets Patroclus to growling and fisting his cock, and Achilles’ eyes go dark as he groans.

“You didn’t even touch his cock,” Patroclus says in a beautifully rough voice.

“No,” Achilles says, low and rumbling like Zagreus has never heard. “No, I didn’t.” He strokes Zagreus’ prostate again, and Zagreus whimpers from the overstimulation, though the edge of pain almost cycles back around to make his arousal start to bank again. “Gods, lad, do you even know how gorgeous you are?”

Zagreus doesn’t realize he’s looking for an answer until the silence stretches too long. “You’ve said,” he croaks uncertainly.

“That sounds like a no,” Achilles says in that same low voice. “It’s enough to make me wish I were a poet, a playwright, some great man with the words to express it—to write you songs, epics—”

“It would be a dirty epic,” Zagreus jokes awkwardly, wincing as Achilles strokes his prostate once more, “If it were to revolve around how nice you think I look when I come.”

Achilles pauses and looks at him in a strange, knowing kind of way, and says, “I didn’t mean just when you come, Zagreus.” His kiss to Zagreus’ thigh is surprisingly sweet, given the position. “You’re lovely in every way I can think of.” His smile is shy, almost boyish. It makes Zagreus feel all fluttery inside. “And as we established, I’ve spent an awful lot of time thinking about you.”

“I’d like to be clear he doesn’t hold exclusive right to that,” Patroclus adds. There’s something competitive about the statement, and Achilles shoots him a dry look. “Though he’s of course known you longer. And—well, he’s being a sap about it, but the sentiment is true.”

Zagreus squirms under their attention. It feels somehow even more intense than when their objective was his pleasure. “Um. Thank you.”

He doesn’t really need to believe it to thank them for their kindness, after all. At least that’s how he rationalizes it to himself.

The silence as they exchange glances makes Zagreus’ heart skip a beat, and not really in any kind of good way. Achilles removes his finger and wipes it on the sheet before staring thoughtfully at Zagreus.

“There’s no need for thanks when it is simply the truth,” Achilles finally says. When Zagreus shoots him a dubious expression, he sighs and clambers over Zagreus to rest their foreheads together. “You’ll see it someday. But it doesn’t have to be today.”

“Right,” Zagreus says slowly, full of doubt and a little bit of discomfort.

“And on that note,” Achilles says, “I think if I took hours to open you up, Patroclus might just fuck me himself.”

Zagreus chokes.

Patroclus looks as though he’s considering it seriously, stroking his beard. “If it were hours,” he says, “I imagine I might fuck you both, actually.”

“Right. So if we’re going to stick to the original plan, I think I should probably get on with it.” Achilles gives an uncharacteristic wink, and Zagreus flushes. “For today.”

“If you were going to speed up anyway, you didn’t have to make a whole production out of things,” Patroclus points out grumpily. “Though I suppose all’s well in love and orgasms.”

Zagreus gets the impression they might be humoring him, at least a little. That maybe they caught on that the praise, outside of purely sexual context, was taking him somewhere a bit dark, and maybe they decided to joke around to bring him back and cut off the idea about hours of praise so that he wouldn’t be uncomfortable, and—well, that should make him uncomfortable. He should be worried he ruined things again, and there’s still that voice that whispers he did.

It’s just hard to focus on it, when they look at him like they do.

True to his words, Achilles prepares Zagreus much more quickly but with just as much care, and by the end of it Zagreus is hard again and moaning for them. He doesn’t have much of a refractory period in the first place, but even if he did, he thinks Achilles and Patroclus could arouse the River Styx itself, if they really wanted to.

Patroclus stops idly stroking his cock when Achilles takes out his fingers and slicks up his cock with the oil. “Are we finally there?” he drawls. “Felt like it might’ve been hours after all.”

“It wasn’t more than minutes, you impatient thing,” Achilles says with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “But yes, I think that should do it.”

“That’s a very light way of saying you fingered me into a puddle,” Zagreus says, gulping in air and trying to remember how his legs work.

“Oh, no, not a puddle, Achilles. Puddles can’t fuck me at all.” Patroclus’ eyes twinkle in the low light when he smiles. “Drat. We’ll just have to find some other god—”

“Now hang on there,” Zagreus counters, sitting up and crossing his arms. “I’m a puddle with a cock. It’s fine.”

Patroclus snorts. “Well, there’s a proposition I’ve not yet heard. I suppose I’ll take you up on it for the novelty, if nothing else.”

“I swear you two are as happy to banter as you are to fuck,” Achilles says, pulling Zagreus back into his lap. It gets him to stop talking about being a cock-puddle, at least, because instead he’s moaning at the feeling of Achilles’ erection between his cheeks.

“I’m happy to do both,” Patroclus says, eyes going intense, “But I’ll admit you’ve tipped the scale in one direction.”

Zagreus watches as Patroclus gets onto hands and knees at the end of the bed. “Right then,” he purrs in that same low, seductive voice he favors. “Puddle or god, I suppose I don’t care, as long as you fuck me right. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

It’s another one of those orders that doesn’t sound like an order, and Zagreus pinches his hip to keep back the whine. “Yes, sir,” he whispers and only spends a few moments hypnotized by Patroclus’ ass before he gulps and reaches for the oil.

He doesn’t need to open Patroclus further—he doesn’t actually doubt his ability to do it himself, if he says he can—but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up the opportunity to feel him one way or another. And he doesn’t need to use fingers, anyway, does he?

“Oh,” Patroclus says, actually surprised. “Well, that’s not quite fucking, stranger.”

He’s not asking him to stop, either, or demanding it. Zagreus thinks that probably means he has some leeway, and Patroclus _did_ ask for the best Zagreus could do. He licks at the rim, bringing his hands to Patroclus’ ass to spread his cheeks so he can dig even deeper in, alternating between spearing his tongue into his hole and lapping at the mess he’s made.

“That’s beautiful,” Achilles breathes, smoothing his hand down Zagreus’ thigh, still avoiding his cock—which is probably for the best, because Zagreus needs to concentrate if he’s to keep from giving into his arousal. “Just like that, love. When he goes all quiet, that’s when you know he’s really feeling it. He clenches his teeth so he doesn’t make any noise.”

“Don’t go giving away all my secrets just yet,” Patroclus says, through teeth that sound just as gritted as Achilles predicted, but the sentence peters out on a groan. “Oh, fuck. Your mouth—”

Now this is praise Zagreus will always be happy to take. He moans in response and clutches Patroclus’ ass even harder, redoubling his efforts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and then, “Oh, gods, you have to stop there. I’m way too close to coming already.”

Pleased, Zagreus withdraws. Patroclus looks over his shoulder and barks out a breathy laugh. “Don’t you just look like the cat who got the cream. Don’t rest on those burning laurels of yours yet. You still haven’t fucked me.”

Zagreus licks his lips, confused. “The what who got the what?”

Patroclus blinks, then growls frustratedly. “I’m too hard to explain animals to you. Just fuck me already!”

“Yes sir,” Zagreus responds immediately, getting off Achilles’ lap with one final teasing wiggle and getting into position behind Patroclus. He’s already oiled up his cock, but just to be safe he keeps the bottle nearby and—well, to be safe he should probably also oil the entrance one more time, since he was licking at it—

“Now!”

Well. All right, then. He lines himself up to the sound of Achilles’ laughter and pushes himself in slowly. Just the head, first, and then he stops to make sure Patroclus is all right.

“Achilles, he’s trying to murder me,” Patroclus complains.

Zagreus startles. “I’m so sorry. Have I hurt you?”

Achilles laughs harder, silent now but with his whole body shaking.

“Of course you haven’t hurt me. You’re moving at the speed of a snail.”

“A what?”

Patroclus makes a noise that borders on feral and jerks his whole body back, taking Zagreus halfway in one fell swoop. Zagreus gasps at the sudden feeling, hands flexing around Patroclus’ hips. “O-oh—but—”

“But nothing, stranger. I asked you to fuck me, not to coddle me.”

It’s almost a little cute, how demanding he is when he’s aroused. Zagreus is aroused too, of course—Patroclus is tight and warm and wonderful—but he has orders to fulfill first.

“Yes, sir,” he says.

“You _say_ that, but—” He’s cut off by Zagreus doing exactly as asked and shoving in the rest of the way. Patroclus lets out this little shuddering breath, and before he can tell Zagreus to move again, Zagreus sets off.

He’s not going fast. Fast, he thinks, would end this far too quickly, perhaps for both of them—and while he could certainly get it up a third time for Achilles, it kind of defeats the point of the whole idea where he’s getting pleasure from both ends.

So not fast. But deep, as deep as he can go, and with strength. Patroclus did ask him to fuck him like a god. And he can be a good boy. Patroclus told him he could.

Patroclus isn’t being silent anymore, and Zagreus is almost concerned because Achilles said Patroclus was silent at the height of his arousal, but the noises he’s making don’t _sound_ bad, anyway.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” Patroclus gasps, “Oh, gods, you—”

“I haven’t heard him swear so much in some time,” Achilles says, interested. “I’ll have to have you in me sometime as well, lad.”

Zagreus whimpers, pace faltering for the first time since he started. “Sir, you can’t say that when I’m trying so hard not to come.”

“It got you to make such a nice noise, though,” he teases. Zagreus isn’t sure when he’ll get used to the teasing. “But if you insist, I’ll busy myself elsewhere.”

That turns out to mean him stilling Zagreus’ hips so that he can push himself in, this time as slow as Zagreus had imagined himself with Patroclus, and—oh, Achilles’ cock is _perfect, wonderful_ in him, not particularly thick but long and with a slight curve to it that presses deliciously inside him, and he can only imagine when he’s _aiming—_

“Sir,” he moans, head dropping onto Patroclus’ back and mouthing sloppily at it like it’ll help him keep from releasing immediately. He grinds inside Patroclus while he’s at it, but mostly to be a little shit and hear him curse under his breath. “Achilles, sir, your cock, it’s so…”

“Do I feel good?” Achilles finishes seating himself, rubbing circles into Zagreus’ thighs with his thumbs. “Tell me how I feel.”

“Better than I ever could have imagined, ever,” Zagreus says truthfully, biting on his lip hard and hoping the pain will keep him from coming too soon. It doesn’t do much of anything. “You’re so big and warm, and…” Here. He’s here. That’s the only thing he ever cared about, him and Patroclus here. “Good,” he says instead. “It’s so good.”

“I’m so glad,” Achilles says lowly, pulling out slightly only to slowly slide back in, pressing deep and dirty once he’s done. “I want you to feel good, lad.”

“More, please—please, sir—I want—” He bites his lip again. “But I don’t think I’ll last long. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I doubt we will either.”

“Hey,” Patroclus protests.

“You’re not close?”

“I am, but I can speak for myself,” he grumbles.

“I’ll make you come, either way,” Zagreus says, planting a kiss just below Patroclus’ shoulderblades.

“So confident,” Patroclus says lightly. “Fine. I’ll hold you to it.”

Without any warning, Achilles goes out so far his dick nearly falls from Zagreus, and then slams back in, all in one fluid movement.

“Oh,” Zagreus says on a high-pitched inhale, at the same time as Patroclus grunts, having had Zagreus fucked back into him with the force of it.

Achilles chuckles and does it again. And again, and again, and oh _gods,_ Zagreus is struggling to breathe. Electricity sparks over and over again, building in his abdomen and sparking out in tiny frissons all over his body. He must be crying, because he can see water dripping onto Patroclus’ back, but it’s nothing bad. He’s just so overwhelmed with how much he can _feel,_ and he’s between two men he loves so dearly it almost hurts his heart to have them like this, finally, _finally—_

He hardly registers how he’s moaning, not with all his concentration focused in trying to fuck Patroclus properly as he can still, and the rest focused in the feeling of Achilles in him and all around him. But he does notice Achilles groaning and littering praise on him—so beautiful, so gorgeous, taking me so well, more than I ever dreamed, so sweet—and it feels so much less difficult to accept like this, and lights up his chest with love and even more arousal. And then there’s Patroclus, swearing and breathing hard and saying he’s _close, and fuck if this isn’t his best idea ever, and come on, prince, right there, right there_ —

He angles himself to hopefully hit Patroclus’ prostate even better and Patroclus growls and starts to fuck into his fist, rapid and sure.

“Are you close?” Zagreus asks, though it peters out into a bit of a wail. “Please tell me you’re close, I want you to come, _please_.” He keens when Patroclus clenches around him, feeling moments from floating away. “Please, am I being good, sir?”

“Oh,” Patroclus says faintly, and then groans out an almost painful-sounding orgasm, hips jerking forward and then back onto Zagreus like he can’t quite decide which he wants. His fist tightens and then lets go, and he slides off Zagreus’ cock and onto his back, panting. His eyes are wide, and he looks up at Zagreus in something like awe, a tender smile on his lips.

“My stranger,” he says, “My Zagreus, my beloved. Of course you were good.”

Zagreus cries out at the lightning that rockets down his spine at the statement, sure as if he’d been stricken by one of Zeus’ bolts. He was _good,_ good for him, all he ever wanted—and Achilles is moaning, pressing him down into the bed and rutting wildly into him and babbling _love you, oh, I love you so, fuck, you wonderful beautiful boy,_ and it’s not too long of that before Zagreus comes so hard that his toes arch achingly into the bed and he _sobs._

Achilles isn’t far behind, or so he surmises from the warmth deep in his hole and sluggishly leaking down the crease of his ass. His ears are still roaring, reaccustoming themselves to sound, and he can’t quite catch his breath or stop his hips from making tiny little jerks into the sheets, chasing that edge of overstimulated pain before he stops and goes boneless.

It’s a bit surprising, that Patroclus is the one to drag him over and drop kisses on his shoulder and tell him how well he did, how lovely he was, but Achilles soon joins to press against his front and tell him the same. They exchange sweet kisses over his shoulder, and then kiss him, and he could almost cry again for how full of love he feels. Love for them, and _from_ them, and isn’t that just the damndest thing.

They’ll have to clean off, and soon, if they want to keep the come from crusting in uncomfortable places. Patroclus will volunteer Achilles, who will roll his eyes but do it, which he apparently always does. And they’ll have things to talk about. He knows they will.

But this moment. This one shining, perfect moment. He can have this, kept between them like something precious, and feeling on the edge of believing it could even be true. He can have this, and he’ll let himself keep on having it until it is taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slams head on pillow
> 
> by GOD im finally done. this has taken so fuckin long! i wasnt writing all this time--ive been reading n shit too--but like, when i was writing it was a fuckin crawl, like a couple of sentences at a time. it was v frustrating! also this almost became two chapters again but i didnt let it! oh my god. im just so happy this is done. i wipe my hands of this like they wipe themselves on their poor dirty sheet. im just...so very very asexual lol
> 
> anyway hopefully its. all right or w/e lol


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: nightmares, abandonment issues, parental issues, insecurity, emotional numbness, zagreus thinks a&p are going to leave him, self-hatred, negative thinking, low self esteem, crying, guilt--basically this is the convo about zag's problems ive been mentioning for the whole of the story

Zagreus doesn’t sleep terribly often, nor is he often worn out enough by two orgasms that he feels the need for any kind of rest. But rest he does, after, held tight in between Achilles and Patroclus, and—

_And he wakes up, and they are gone. He goes to look for them, but they are nowhere in their house, and they are nowhere near, and when he finally finds them it’s in the House, and they say—did you truly think we were being honest? Did you truly think we love you? Would you not, first, need to be worthy of our love?_

_Ludicrous. You’ve never been worthy of_ anything. _Not the station to which you were born, not the powers of a god. Not the love of your mother. Certainly not the love of your father. How audacious must you be, to think you could win the affection of people like us, with you how you are?_

_And they walk away. Everyone in the House sees it. All of the shades start to whisper amongst themselves, and he can feel their stares like a physical weight on his skin. Him? he thinks they might be asking. Him of all people, for those heroes? They’re already happy enough on their own, aren’t they?_

_And his father. His father is there too, and he sees, and he snorts and crosses his arms and says, of course you failed, even at this. Of course._

_And he stands up to walk away also, and all the shades disperse with him, and there is no one—there is no one at all—_

“Zagreus,” comes an alarmed voice. “Lad, are you all right?”

Of course he’s not all right, not with them gone. He moves his hands to cover his eyes as he continues sobbing, not quite sure whose hands are on his shoulder, who’s rubbing circles into his hips, but it doesn’t _matter_.

“Shh, dear heart,” rumbles another voice from behind him. “You’re safe. You’re fine.”

Zagreus starts to wake up, enough to realize that he’s waking up anyway. He still can’t stop crying though, even as he buries his head into the body in front of him and recognizes it must be Achilles, even when he connects the dots that Patroclus must be the one dropping kisses on the nape of his neck. Even with all of that, he can’t shake the feeling of agonizing loneliness from that dream, the crushing inadequacy and not-enough of it all, and all he can do is cry until there’s not much of any kind of feeling left.

When the tears start to slow and go sluggish and tacky on his skin, Achilles hugs him tighter, closer, and Patroclus hangs his chin on Zagreus’ shoulder. “Feeling any better?” Patroclus asks. He can feel his jaw move against his skin. There’s something terribly real about it, and Zagreus takes a final shuddering breath and nods.

It’s not entirely true. He’s not—feeling. But if, on the balance of it, awful is worse than nothing, he’s not entirely lying either.

Achilles frees one hand to caress the length of Zagreus’ cheek. “You were calling for us,” he says quietly. Not asking for him to talk, not exactly. Just an observation. He always does this. He doesn’t ask, just observes, but Zagreus always talks anyway.

“I had a dream,” Zagreus says, monotone and tear-roughened. “You—left me. You both left me. You asked why I believed you would love me when I’m—” He can’t say it, only shakes his head and continues, “And then everyone else left too. My father and…”

He can’t keep going after that, just pushes his forehead against Achilles’ collarbone and tries to focus on the feeling of it, and how he’s there, and Patroclus is there too, and it’s fine. Fine enough.

Achilles exhales. The breath flutters against Zagreus’ hair, and he shivers. Not because it’s cold or ticklish or anything. Mostly because he fears Achilles will say exactly what he says next.

“Lad, I think it’s time we have a talk.”

Zagreus goes still. Some distant part of him is aware that it’s not rational that he went to sleep believing well enough they loved him and woke up afraid they’d take it all away, dream or no, but still dozens of scenarios flash through his mind in an instant—all the ways they could tell him it was fun, but they’ve thought it through now and some fun isn’t worth all the trouble of being with him, or that he underperformed and they expected better of him, or that the dream only proved he’s too fragile to manage—

“Breathe,” Patroclus whispers, swiping his knuckles over Zagreus’ hip. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, it won’t be so bad as all that.”

He highly doubts it. In a voice that sounds oddly detached even to him, he asks, “Even if I’m thinking you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“What?!” Achilles exclaims, horrified. “Of course we still—”

“Ah,” Patroclus says at the same time, strangely weary. “I thought it might be that.”

“—want to—Zagreus, we _love_ you. Finding you still felt the same has been the most extraordinary—”

“Zagreus,” Patroclus interrupts in a soft voice. “Is that the dream asking or you?”

He thinks over that question as Achilles falls silent. “Both,” he finally says in a voice muffled slightly by Achilles’ chest. It feels like anything louder might shatter the moment into a thousand pieces. “Both, I think.”

Patroclus hums. “And if I were to ask if it were you or your father?”

Zagreus freezes in an instant. This, he wants to talk about even less. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I don’t think I’m wrong. So where does that leave us?” Patroclus sighs when Zagreus doesn’t respond, and carefully gathers him up against his chest, taking him from his hiding place in Achilles, who is frowning but letting Patroclus talk. “You sweet, lovely little thing,” he murmurs. “I’m unsurprised that the world has not treated you well. Not because you don’t deserve better, but because you are so _good,_ and the world so often is not.” He kisses the tip of Zagreus’ ear, then pauses a moment before adding, “He doesn’t know what he has in you.”

He’s sincere about it, Zagreus can tell, and that makes it even worse. He tears away, sitting up and fighting down the urge to breathe faster, hugging his knees. “No.”

“Zagreus—”

“ _No,”_ Zagreus repeats fiercely. Loathing rises swiftly, forcefully in him, in the pit of his stomach, all the way to the back of his throat. Gods, this is exactly why he doesn’t like thinking about this, talking about it, because when he thinks about it—about _why_ he deserves everything he’s gotten—

Fuck. He just doesn’t like thinking about how much he hates himself.

“No what?” Achilles asks, also rising to sit patiently next to Zagreus, hand starting to hover above his knees before faltering and returning to his side. _Fuck,_ he’s ruining this—even if they do love him, they won’t love— _this—_

His breathing starts to quicken, and he shakes his head once, then again. “You don’t get it. Neither of you understand. I’m sorry to be disrespectful, sirs, but you simply don’t get it.”

“I want to,” Achilles says softly.

He shouldn’t. But Zagreus screws his face up, hides it in his knees, and holds his breath. They deserve—well, to know what they’re getting into, at least, right? To know why they…shouldn’t. Care, that is. And they’re so kind to him, and they’ve let him into their home, into their bed, and…

“Please tell us, love. We only want to help.”

Zagreus lets out his breath all at once when he hears the word ‘love’, chewing on his lip. Right. Right.

“I don’t like my father,” Zagreus says, finally. “But he’s not wrong.”

Saying it out loud seems like maybe it should be freeing, but instead it feels only like another weight on his heart. He shakes his head once more and repeats, slower this time, “He’s not wrong. I’m not good. Not a good god, not a good son, not a good anything. I try, but…I can’t…” He grits his teeth. “I can’t be good…enough. For him, or for you. And I figure it’s only a matter of time before you both realize that.”

He can’t see Achilles’ face, shadowed as it is by how he ducks his head, but he can see Patroclus’ level expression, and how it doesn’t change at all when he says, “Ah. Well, that’s bullshit.”

Zagreus draws back as surely as though Patroclus had slapped him, indignant. “What?”

“That’s bullshit,” Patroclus repeats, just as calm. “I’m curious what you thought the outcome of that would be, stranger. You tell us that you can admit your father is an ass who’s denigrated you for your entire life but that you think he’s probably got the right of things, and even though we’ve watched you fight for your mother, extend kindness to everyone around you, reunite lovers—all through that, we’ll just nod and say no, you’re right in fact, you’re a sack of shit and get out of our home?”

Zagreus opens his mouth, confused and a bit outraged and, frankly, hurt that he’d opened up and Patroclus had responded like—that, but he can’t think of anything to say to express any of that either.

“I don’t know your father. I don’t even know entirely what he says about you, though I think I can make some guesses. But I know _you._ ” Patroclus sits up too with a sigh, holding his chin in one palm, elbow propped up against his knees. “Maybe not as well as I could, though I look forward to rectifying that in the future. But what I know of you, I like. I _love._ And if it turns out you’re not perfect, all I can say is that I don’t know anybody who is. I’m not, that’s for certain.” He pokes Achilles with his foot. “This one isn’t. Even the gods aren’t. What makes you so much worse than that?”

Some of the hurt simmers down as he recognizes Patroclus is trying to help, albeit bluntly, but he still doesn’t know what to say. He shakes his head one last time in lieu of a response, then lets his eyes fall to the bed.

“I’ve seen it,” Achilles says in a haunted, crackling whisper.

He looks up slightly, at Achilles, questioning.

“For years and years, I’ve seen it. I’ve watched as he tells you what you’re worth. And I never—said anything, because I didn’t think I could help, or—no. Because I was scared. And now.” Zagreus only realizes when some of the low light from outside glints off Achilles’ face that he must be crying, hand trembling where it’s in a fist against his leg. “Now you _believe_ him.”

Zagreus gapes at him, still trying to cycle through what even is happening right now. “Sir?”

“I’ve been watching so long, lad,” Achilles says. “And I should have—helped. Somehow. I should have told you—”

Zagreus, like Achilles had earlier, reaches a hand out to touch him, stopping just before it reaches skin. But now, Achilles takes his hand in both of his, bringing it up to his face and pressing shaking kisses to every inch of it. Zagreus can feel the tears wet his palm. “Sir,” he murmurs again, starting to tear up himself once more, even though he doesn’t quite understand why just yet, even though he had thought he’d cried himself out earlier.

“I should have told you, Zagreus, that you’re nothing like your father.” And before Zagreus can recoil, he continues, “And that’s part of what makes you so amazing.”

Zagreus winces, but Achilles holds firm to his hand, looking up at him now with those beautiful, sad eyes. “It’s true. Your father is…a bitter, hard man. It makes him a good king, I suppose, but as a man, as a father—” He purses his lips. “But you. You, Zagreus, my love—where his heart is closed off, you opened it to everyone, and it makes you open to hurt but also so, so kind.” He kisses his thumb. “So sweet.” His index finger. “So helpful.” His middle finger. “So understanding.” His ring finger. “So _good,_ Zagreus.” His pinky, and then he moves Zagreus’ hand to his cheek, leaning into it with an exhale.

Zagreus is stunned into not talking back, barely even moving.

“I know you don’t believe it right now. When someone has told you for so long—someone who’s supposed to love you—and with all the eyes on you, expecting you to succeed. It must have been so hard, I know that. And I should have done more for you, from the moment I first saw him hurt you.” His hand, over Zagreus, tightens. “But please, if you love us, let us try to love you back. At least that. We can’t change your circumstance, and we can’t change your past. But we can support you as you shape your future. Can we do that?”

Zagreus’ brows furrow, and he hangs his head once more as the tears render his sight blurry, turning both of them into nothing more than shape and color, if it weren’t for Achilles’ skin under his hand, Patroclus’ hand coming to his hip. “But you…both of you…”

“We don’t deserve better, my dear stranger,” Patroclus says, voice gentled now. “We’re two dead fools, that’s all. But past all his dramatics, Achilles is right. We do love you. And I think we’re both hoping that, with time, you will see yourself like we see you. But for now—for now, maybe you can just stay, and we’ll get to the rest as it comes.”

It’s nothing he likes to admit, even to himself, but when the voice inside says _you don’t deserve them,_ and _you’re not good enough for them_ , it does sound a bit like his father. And—even if that’s so—that’s not something he can set aside just because they’re saying nice things to him. He can’t just listen to them tell him he’s good and sweet and deserving and think, that’s right. I deserve better. I deserve them.

But when they ask for him just to be there, he thinks that’s something he thinks he can manage, at least for the moment.

“I love you too,” he says. “Both of you.”

Patroclus kisses his shoulder, and Achilles his forehead. “So?” Patroclus asks.

“Come back to bed, love,” Achilles says, and maybe it can be as simple as that until they wake up together once more.

“All right,” he responds, and lets them position him in between them again, Achilles to his back this time and Patroclus to his front, both hugging him like they don’t want to let him go. Maybe that’s even true.

He can think about it later, he decides. For now—yes, for now. He can try for a better dream, whether he deserves one or not. A kinder fiction, this time, with all of them together, and staying like that.

Yeah. He thinks he likes that story best.

_(Dream._

_Or, no. That’s not quite right. Perhaps, instead—hope._

_Hope, and then make that hope come true._

_This isn’t anything you’ve seen. But it’s something you want desperately enough to see that you’ll make it happen: Zagreus, with you and your love, happy. Knowing you love him, and that your love loves him just as much, and that he belongs here always._

_This future. It is easy, is it not? Easy, and beautiful, and right._

_So hope, and then make that hope come true. It’s within your grasp, if only you reach for it. You can’t only watch. Tell the lad he’s wonderful. Hug Patroclus, even when he’s being rude. Laugh together with them. Kiss them stupid and then once more. Let them know how much you care. Let them know how much you love them, even when they don’t think they deserve it, even when you’re not sure you deserve it yourself._

_“You’re being an overdramatic sap again,” Patroclus will say. He’ll be correct._

_But that’s all right, then, isn’t it? There are worse things. You’ve been in many a story, ending in all kinds of ways, and there are a lot of bad endings out there. You’ll happily take the one in which, whatever else may come to pass, you and Patroclus and Zagreus are still sappily, dramatically, eternally in love.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all rightyyyy here we are! big, uh, tonal shift from the porn lol, but in my limited defense i...never expected the porn to get so long :') anyway it's not much an ending. especially because like (coughs) theres no, uh, therapy back then, its not easy to offer solutions here? zagreus had a shitty upbringing and a shitty dad and it's not easy to just get over shit like that. its certainly not going to happen just because two hot guys have chapters and chapters of sex with you lol. but i do think with time and a good support system he'll at least be able to shift his thinking more and start thinking about himself and circumstances in a healthier way, so. he'll get there! they all will!
> 
> anyway sorry for the abrupt ending, i have a truth for u and that is just that my fingers are a fuck and i wanted to be done with it so now i am :) sometimes its as simple as that folks lol
> 
> anyway ty everybody for going on this overly long and moderately sexy journey with me, ur comments are all so sweet and also you are sweet and deserve all the love in the world always. one last time, thank you for reading! and i hope 2 see u on another fic sometime~

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i didnt mean to open up another multichaptered fic when i have two unfinished fics?? it was only a fic it was only a fic (and again it was originally a oneshot but i had broken it down into sections anyway so...ANYWAY IT SHOULD BE DONE SOON ENOUGH AND THEN I CAN BE. RESPONSIBLE. I JUST WANTED SOME PZA OK! A SINGLE SLICE OF PZA! im starving for the patrozagchilles content i cannot be blamed for my actions aka. this)
> 
> anyway uhh yeah i'm on twitter at [@boringbibs](https://twitter.com/boringbibs) and on tumblr, tho not much anymore, at [anuninterestingperson](https://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com)


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